Next By Jessica D’Ambrosio
October has a history. Her long, proud tail
pierces the air as her curious eyes prepare for a pounce.
She had fallen from a section of an October
night sky. Each spot, a star over her tiny piece of earth.
She watches over me as I write. And when
I simply cannot concentrate, a game of
connect-the-dots helps to bring back the flow of words.
My fingers find her twin pyramid
ears and may one day make the dimples larger.
I imagine her flat back and stiff legs
could carry me into her starry world, away
from the small sphere I enclose myself in when I write.
She has a flat, spade nose that saddens her
face and lends comfort to me when my blind fingers find it.
October is a paradox. Her sad face tells me a
lonely tale and her perky speckled tail tells
me that she is ready to play.
October belongs to the sky and wonders if
she will ever go back. She is prepared to simply
stand and wait. Wait to pounce. Wait to
cry. Wait for me to bring her back, with my words, to the
corner of sky she fell from.
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