My mind pulls my body up, pushes it out the door
on one end of an extendable lead. Watch
her tail, it says, see how happy she is, it says.
And it’s not wrong. So I stumble down the street,
gasping as feet and knees jar with each
step, and gradually my gaze lifts from the
metronomic blur of her tail to her perked ears,
and beyond to white valerian shooting from the
bottom of the red wall, the dazzling light green
sprigs of privet, the self-seeded hollies
holding out their pink papier-mâché buds for
shy approval, and the cherry-pop blossom
waving over the hedge. And I think, ok mind,
you’re not wrong, my tail is wagging.
First published in What Meets the Eye: The Deaf Perspective, by Arachne Press
From the hermitage 