he got his name from his eyes,
his sweet, beautiful eyes that
glow like the forest in the early afternoon sun
and swirl like a cloudless sky in the late evenings
as he chases the rabbits from the garden and herds the cat to the back door.
a bundle of affection and ardor,
play and pep,
joy and jubilance—
blue green sprints circles through the house and dashes past slow,
coffee-less morning feet on his way to the kitchen.
mornings used to be blue green’s favorite.
the smell of sausage and bacon sizzling on the stove sent shivers
straight down his spine to his stumpy tail.
and the sound of leftover eggs falling into his stainless-steel bowl?
heaven on earth.
sometimes he’d bump her arm and extra pancakes would tumble to the floor,
causing her to laugh and kiss the top of his head.
from the Way Back he remembers the man too,
who rolled soccer balls across the lawn for him to chase
and took him on long runs before she woke up.
he was a Good Man and blue green was his Good Dog—
his Good Boy,
his Hey You!
and his Sweet Puppy.
everything still smells like him,
yet he never comes home,
never sits at the table with the woman
or slips him scraps of chicken.
the lady is Sad a lot more now,
and although blue green cuddles her feet every night to try and keep her warm,
she still shakes like a cold newborn pup almost every single night.