Pumpkin

She places the soft under of her neck in the crook of my elbow

Her breath, that smells of dampness and processed meat

Is somehow the most comforting thing to me. 

I hold her closely. She is the only dog I know that doesn’t squirm away from a tight embrace

She settles in and sighs, her soft body warm. 

I tell her how much I love her.

But does she know?

All we have to communicate with is our bodies 

No common language spoken between us

How can I tell her that her love saved me?

That taking her for walks was sometimes the only part of the outside world I could bear. That reaching for her small paws at the end of the bed at night was a savior to me. 

That her foul-smelling tongue on my face buoyed me from sorrow.

Now we get to be at the other side of it, in complete peace.

How do I tell her that I am afraid to live without her? That if I had one wish I would want her to live forever, that every year when I let her eat whipped cream on February 23rd I am one year closer to the day she has to leave us. 

When that day comes all I will have to offer is pain 

On the hollow altar that is my body. 

But as time goes on I hope to offer the love she gave me

How can I tell her that I love her? Does she understand?

I settle for scratching the tufts of fur behind her velvety ears. She leans further into my embrace.