Weight
Paw Print
Years since—
his bowl gone,
yard grown over,
collar hanging
unused.
This morning,
cleaning the window,
I found it—
one print,
low in the corner,
half lost to light.
It floored me.
Solid.
Sure.
The weight of him
in a single mark.
I stood
cloth in hand,
his breath
suddenly in the room.
Didn’t wipe it.
Didn’t move.
Just watched
as the sun warmed the glass
and brought him
loping back
through the yard
and the years.
Ryan Stone
First Smoke
I lit it behind the shed
with a match I struck on the tin—
my thumb raw from trying.
The cigarette trembled
between fingers that still knew
Lego and scraped knees.
I didn’t cough.
Didn’t blink.
Just held the burn in
like I was keeping a secret
only smoke could understand.
The dog watched,
head tilted,
like he knew I’d crossed
into something I couldn’t uncross.
By the time Mum called for tea,
my breath was fire and hush,
and I’d decided
not to be a boy anymore.
Ryan Stone
Red Wagon
I pulled my dog through summers,
tongue lolling in the heat,
ears twitching at bees
and things only he could hear.
The wagon rattled like laughter
over cracked footpaths,
and I—captain of that small red ship—
knew no world beyond
the corner store
and the shade beneath our tree.
It was enough.
Now I carry more—
keys, deadlines, debt,
the ache of wanting
what I used to have
before I learned to want.
My wagon rusts in a shed somewhere,
still red beneath the dust,
still waiting
for a child who doesn’t need more.
Ryan Stone
Dog Days
There’s a lot going on in the world
today. My TV stays off
for sanity’s sake.
Another school. Child. Innocent.
Betrayal. And fear, like a flag
hanging over it all.
When sorrow engulfs me, I almost feel guilty–
how does an old paw print
eclipse any of that?
But my sphere spins slowly, the breeze
carries ghosts, forgotten barks—
long walks by the coast.
Ryan Stone
Last Light
settling dusk
a boy and his dog
leaping shadows
Ryan Stone
Faux paw
barking dog
a constant annoyance!
until the burglar
Ryan Stone
Trust
Soft snores beside me
A wheaten curl of warm sleep
Outside the wind howls
Ryan Stone
You’re Missing
Spring cleaning windows
a paw print from last summer
fractures the sunlight
– Ryan Stone
How quickly the years slip past. Gone but never forgotten, old mate.
days of stone 