by Patrick G. Roland
Strange, what stirs us from life’s slumber.
A flicker, a crack in the dark of unconscious awareness.
For me, it was the death of an old dog.
Caring for her every need during her final days.
She became a baby of death.
I was holding her
and cleaning her
and hand feeding her,
but not to foster life and a future.
I was preparing for the after.
I was saying goodbye.
During that time, I became introspective.
I stepped inside myself and stumbled around.
I searched beneath ribs
Through the hollows of lungs
I checked the corners of my chest
And listened to the echoes of bones.
While looking for something
I thought I found nothing,
So I opened the shades
Inviting memories to spill in,
and I startled myself and refused Rip’s fate.
I don’t recall the spell, but I awoke to time’s absence.
Where have the years gone?
I recalled my goals,
Called my friends,
And called my own bluff.
I shut it all down and set my distractions aside.
I began streaming my life instead of strangers’,
And I smiled again,
Wide, unworried, and real.
Not because I had to
Because I wanted to and needed to.
It’s amazing when you find yourself sleepwalking through life.
For me, an old dog’s eternal sleep was my awakening.
Patrick G. Roland is a writer and educator living with cystic fibrosis. He explores life’s experiences through poetry and storytelling, attempting to inspire others both in the classroom and through writing. He lives near Pittsburgh with his wife, who is his thoughtful critic, and their two children, who are his muse. His poetry can be found in the Eunoia Review, Willawaw Journal, Neologism Poetry Journal and several others.
