A Writer's Sonnet

Left Brain Right Brain

My office is a hideaway of sorts.
I go there to create lit when I can.
To steal a chunk of time from pending chores,
Crossing to left brain, twists of plot to plan.
But interruptions follow me inside,
Which make it hard to hunker down and work,
And when the day is done I can't abide
The paltry pile of output for my book.
I tell myself I had to pay that bill,
I toss and turn and wonder why I pro-
Crastinate? Failed procedure, quill or will?
But should I write by night like E. A. Poe?
Dawn comes. I rise and, fresh, seek out my muse.
My right brain grasps the fact 'tis I who chose.

Come Back

Come Back (after Dorothy Parker)

A mild and most bewildered little shade

Paces my darkened office all alone,

Stares in disbelief at the rug where he

Died, oh so suddenly last Tuesday morn,

Gone with one exhale as I composed with

My back to him, his head fell on his paws.

I typed away as he ebbed away. Soft.

Praying was my first thought when I turned. Spoke

Buddy? Buddy. Buddy! Then I knelt down,

The first mourning tears already falling

Touching the already heavy form. Eyes

Sinking back away from me. Please don't go!

I held him close. Done it a thousand times.

The loving heart that beat, "I'll never leave

You. Ever." Was still. Still, I hoped we'd be

Together years from now. Assumption dashed.

Opened myself to grief and pain. Only

Through this sad journey did I come to terms,

Accepting. Then I found that I could see

Him. His lanky silhouette in the night.

Buddy you kept your word! You have not left.

Earthy angel, soiled paws and frowzy ears

No Standard Poodle you, my dear. Noble

Friend. You must go, you know. To claim your wings.

All dogs go to heaven it is said. But

Before you fly, please promise that you'll come

Back. For me. When it is time. Okay?

Back. To lead bewildered, weary me. Home.