When my dog digs without ceasing,
I wonder what she knows that I don’t;
what she sees that I don’t.
I muddy my feet to match her paws.
She shows me how birds twist their necks
to see past cherry stems
and that lovers live in all forms.
I watch for when tangerines
drip from the sunset
and open my drooling mouth in time
to catch one.
I learn what time of day angels dance
in the prairie.
You can raise a song as your own,
if you can catch its voice in the wind.
Magic lives in the tree’s hiccups
and dies when walking legs
get lost in brambles.
Beetles bite to find the holy grail
of sugar cane.
If you claw into earth and barrel
toward cornflower patches,
you can make it rotate beneath you.
We use the sun to thank each other.
She soaks its tresses into her fur,
warming my palm as it meets her head.
I douse my brush in its lap
to decorate her trail.
About the Author
Kelli Lage is earning her degree in Secondary English Education and works as a substitute teacher. She is a poetry reader for Bracken Magazine. Awards: Special Award for First-time Entrant, 2020, Iowa Poetry Association. Website: http://www.KelliLage.com.
Inklings Literary Magazine 