Molly - Craig Kirchner

Can’t fly or levitate; can’t hover.

With tremors and sciatica,

have trouble standing erect.

Yet I am somehow sure,

as are friends, fellow workers,

and all I’ve spoken to lately,

that we are superior to birds.

We adopted a dog. Molly.

Abandoned as a pup at the beach,

she stopped my son at a red-light

climbed in the back seat for life.

She would go to the window and wait,

when my wife was on her way -

(I only knew Dee was home when she parked.)

Molly knew when I was about to speak,

perked her ears before my mouth opened,

with a caring, empathetic look that meant,

I know what you’re going to say,

before I said it.

She sensed storms when the sky was clear.

(I only know it’s raining when I’m wet.)

I ridicule folks with pets at Walmart,

and always thought poorly of the

part of the family mentality of

grave plots and Xmas stockings,

but Molly was part of our clan -

the most benevolent part -

she just could never quite say so.

Originally published by Last Stanza Poetry Journal, September 2023

Craig Kirchner is retired and living in Jacksonville. He loves the aesthetics of writing, has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels, and has been nominated three times for a Pushcart. Craig's writing has been published in Chiron Review, Main Street Rag, The Modern Artist and dozens and dozens of others. He houses 500 books in his office and about 400 poems on a laptop; these words help keep him straight. Craig can be found on Bluesky.