I wish to be seen
by those unknown
just as my girl
looks upon me
each morning:
homegrown and unbent,
unrelenting in my valor,
no dissent in my mourning.
Strands of gold
conceal bright eyes
hidden beneath
irises of caramel glaze;
sugar-coated fur
softens a day's blow
and reminds me
of a life worth living,
even if it is not
my own.
You were named Sagan
after the stars in the sky,
constellations so bright
brimming in our peripherals;
out of all the tribulations
tossed onto my chest,
you are the one
worth all four years
we forcibly endured.
They say
a dog mimics
their owner;
unfortunately,
this remains true.
The click of the dishwasher
reminds you of our shouts;
the heat from the stove
alludes to our physicality;
the vroom of the vacuum
reminiscent of 3 am cleaning,
a naive attempt
to mitigate the complexities
of his notable absence
night after night,
abandonment,
disregard.
I hoisted you over my shoulder,
carried you across campus
in the dead of the night,
solely to search
for his guilty eyes
peering from the shadows,
reflecting the prediction we'd made.
He has no idea
what he truly did
to you and me.
I am so sorry
you were borne
into an atmosphere
so dysfunctional,
so debilitating.
Showered with love,
yes you were,
but our words
rushed over you
as a stream of water,
bubbling through jagged stones,
reshaping your edges
into a rounded surface,
the smooth malleability
a cruel juxtaposition
of your selfless love
and your innate reciprocity
to positive affirmations
from those you adore.
We've made it out;
we've survived it all.
I do not listen
to the muddled hypocrisy
jumbling from a preacher's mouth;
yet, each night, I thank God
for giving me you,
so true, so blue,
so innocent, so perfect.
You were what I needed
to make it out alive,
and you are what I need
to maintain my breath;
you are the reason
I remain on this earth
to this day.
Thank you, Sagan,
for all you've done,
for all you continue to do
for this broken boy
undeserving
of your selfless,
unsolicited,
venerated
devotion.