days of stone

Tag: dog

  • Weight

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

  • Ghost Print

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

  • Paw Print

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Years since—his bowl gone,yard grown over,collar hangingunused. 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 himin a single mark. I stoodcloth in hand,his breathsuddenly in the room. Didn’t wipe it.Didn’t move. Just watchedas the sun warmed the glassand brought himloping backthrough the yardand the years.…

  • First Smoke

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    I lit it behind the shedwith a match I struck on the tin—my thumb raw from trying. The cigarette trembledbetween fingers that still knewLego and scraped knees. I didn’t cough.Didn’t blink.Just held the burn inlike I was keeping a secretonly smoke could understand. The dog watched,head tilted,like he knew I’d crossedinto something I couldn’t uncross.…

  • Red Wagon

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    I pulled my dog through summers,tongue lolling in the heat,ears twitching at beesand things only he could hear. The wagon rattled like laughterover cracked footpaths,and I—captain of that small red ship—knew no world beyondthe corner storeand the shade beneath our tree. It was enough. Now I carry more—keys, deadlines, debt,the ache of wantingwhat I used…

  • Dog Days

    Dog Days

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    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…

  • Last Light

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    settling dusk a boy and his dog leaping shadows Ryan Stone

  • Faux paw

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    barking dog a constant annoyance! until the burglar Ryan Stone

  • Trust

    Trust

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in

    Soft snores beside meA wheaten curl of warm sleepOutside the wind howls Ryan Stone

  • You’re Missing

    —

    by

    Ryan Stone
    in , ,

    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.