My New Muse

Her puppy dog eyes melt my soul. 

How can I say no? How can I turn my back?

Cross my arms?

She destroys everything in her path. Nothing

is safe.

I bleed for her. I come back to her

when she cries for me.

Those puppy dog eyes.

They get me every time.





This little gal is going to provide lots of inspiration. And lots of irritation! This morning I’ve been up for two hours and have been productive for about three minutes. The rest have been spent with puppy obedience. Puppy poop. Puppy nibbles. Puppy dribbles.

I’ve been reading a lot poetry, free verse like Jacqueline Woodson and Billy Collins, singsongy kid books like Dr. Suess, and the always magnificent (not kid book) Edna St. Vincent Millay. My brain loves saturation. It’s like when I practice French on DuoLingo, et tout à coup, Je parle en français dans mes rèves. So now when I think, I think in verse. Or in free verse, which I feel ridiculous about, because I’m not a poet.

But I can pretend to be. And what better muse than a soft, snuggly, nippy, poopy bundle of fluff. My heart sings! My heart breaks! I yearn, I ache! I have so much emotion, as if I’m writing about a long lost lover, my soul mate, or my children.

Oh Winnie. I can’t turn


Oh Winnie. I love you

every day.


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