Dani: There was a big bush here yesterday, and now it's little.
Truffles: Little? Yes, it's gotten little. When will it grow back?
D: Months, years, who knows? Never if you keep chewing on it.
T: Never?! Should I sample all the ones in the back?
T: I should, then, just in case I can never have this one ever again.
D: You're happy today.
T: Happiness is relative.
D: To what?
T: How much pellets are left in my bowl.
D: I'm home!
T: Took you long enough. What do you do behind that big black door anyway?
D: There's a lot to do behind the big black door.
T: Well, there's none of me there, so I don't understand why you'd go.
D: It's a little more complex than that.
T: Maybe I should go with you next time.
D: I don't think so.
T: Well then, don't go!
In e.e. cummings no capitalized letters style
A brief Truffles update: she is no longer all that small, but she forgets how long she's grown. She still tries to fit into pots meant for sproutlings and baby bunnies. I have no idea whether this hurts her feet, but she's a trooper.
A brief update on my life: I've got a month and a half before turning it in for the summer! Here's to one last sprint to reach this year's finish line. Send prayers my way because I'd really like to be promoted to third year medicine.
Anywho: onto the poem!
we are a pair of thieves, merciless
-ly taking—her from the leaves plants air out to
dry, and me from the female counterpart of father
time. she never seems to side-eye judge my
greed—and I twisting tongue justify hers.
there is serenity in communication
barriers: no words just the pounding of paws and
feet, no fear just exhale
confessions into pointed
me more than my
race understand how to be
human. it is an odd species i family-belong to, and
black-sheep wish i could understand you instead of ghosts of
men drowning insults in sweet nectar kisses—i can hear the innuendos in their
snake-smiles, can taste desire in their gaze, can feel heart pounding punchlines miles
primal. politics is
civil, so, we go on, one-night-stand
pretend it's no big deal and virgin shame
conservatives, and tiptoe around
feelings, utter cover up
confessions meant to feign
embarrassment while shutterbug taking
memories of what we really keep
my truth is not silent, and, therefore
i am primal—hair tossed in the
wind, right side shaved
short for the brevity of our time
together, for the
sweltering summer months i spent
out in the open road to
if i could steal the hands of
time, wind it back to twenty
fourteen, i’d steal leaves aired out to
dry instead of glances in your direction.
i’d steal star-crossed
dreams and words from
civilization, shake out excess
instinct and keep going.
i’d find her earlier, and
learn how to use paws instead of
hands. it is our handshake language:
i call her name, assume she listens, and she
puts her head in my palm, assumes my constant presence.
A few weeks ago, just before another grueling round of exams, I met Truffles––the adorable, the curious, the furry.
At two and a half months, she's (quite literally) a handful. She's been sampling our garden plants like an epicurean, and she's mad for my mum's ferns. I'd say she's settling in quite well, apart from her spoilt rejection of her dried hay in favour of fresh garden grass. After a few days of opposition, Mum's accepted our new member of the family.
As for myself? I'm completely attached.
Truffles the Smol is here to stay for (hopefully) a very long time.