The Body Poem Project: Anxiety Puppies

Anxiety Puppies 

Descending to rescue puppies in a cave of creepy spaces, 

Scrambling bodies, tearing into walls to reveal hidden passages. 

Catching the falling dog and then letting go her again, 

Staring horrified at her broken body, the doctor eager to examine it. 

Becoming feverish, infected by a gifted fruit bat, 

Apologizing to the doctor, away from his family, working to find a cure. 

Chasing after my injured husband, sick in the eye and wandering, 

Worrying as the slutty girls mock me, asking, “Where did he go?” 

Running toward the injured puppy, a gash in her hind end, 

Trying to keep one puppy safe, while losing another. 

Boiling a puppy for dinner and then knowing her name, 

Regretting the action, asking, “Can the doctor save her?” 

Selling a puppy to a cancer patient in Fremont Park, 

Running barefoot at night in the rain on cobblestones. 

Flying over the rooftops with a puppy in each hand, 

Stumbling into a nightclub where everyone looks like a disheveled Captain America. 

Giving a socially distant eulogy for a friend in Bellingham, 

Losing my words under the dock out in the water. 

Returning from the college dorms, my room with a puppy, 

Unable to find my notes, the typewriter, or a working printer. 

Chasing a criminal through the marketplace as he throws objects aside, 

Hiding in an irresistible yellow bed with puppies and a welcoming monk. 

Eating rice again and worrying how to solve the problem of too many puppies, 

Seeking soothing spaces for all of the messy litters of worries. 

Listening to Sam upstairs waking up at last, descending the stairs, 

Letting the puppies outside into the cold and back into the warm.