The whine of the rusted hinges
As you push open the wooden barrier
Between me and the trees and the grass and the dirt
Is the sweetest sound I've ever heard.
You don't look like me.
My skin is matted with fur,
Crispy leaves twisted through my curls.
(I have be rolling in the dirt,
And I am so sorry.)
Your skin is white and smooth,
And your hair waterfalls in a flat,
Uninterrupted sheet down your back.
But you smell like family.
I go belly-up
Inviting your long white fingers
To scratch me. Oh,
I have missed you so much and I promise,
I will give my small life to you.