(After Woman by a Window Feeding Her Dog, by Mary Cassatt)

If there is such a thing as forever, I will be here by this high window,
this dog beside me, sun on our faces. Everything important will
spread out beneath us: gazebo and fountain. Each will be held in its
own moment of beauty like the Yorkshire Terriers whose pictures
hang on my kitchen wall: three no longer with me and this one who
chews his rope giraffe to pieces with no regrets, no sentimental
attachment—the chew worth whatever loss it incurs. Informed by
his own spirit, he sees in things only things and wants nothing more
than his leash and long walks, a game of throw the ball. He needs
nothing more than to sleep on the floor between my feet or curled in
the right angle my arm and elbow make when I hold him—the
happiness he was made for.
If only forever were a choice we could make, I would choose this
dog’s world (and my place in it)—absolute innocence—no other life
to plan for but this. Nothing but this: love without reservation—his
world and mine as it ought to be and, in this moment, is.
 

This poem first appeared in Paterson Literary Review.
Used with the author's permission.