image from poetess's personal scrapbook
poem submitted to “Shape Shift Animal” poetry contest, Natasha L. Scragg, sponsor, March 18, 2026
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I’m like a teapot—short and stout—at dawn, contentedly sleeping in the kitchen's first light. By noon, I’m a question mark curled on your lawn, punctuating the grass with snores. Sometimes, I’m a baguette, crusty and long, stretched across the couch in a sunbeam. Other days, I’m a slipper with eyes that follow along as you tiptoe past the doggie treat jar. I have been a caterpillar, a comma, a parenthesis nuzzling your ankle. Occasionally, I was your boomerang, mama, who returned to you with leaves in my fur. But always, always, beneath my shifting silhouette, I remain your loving Doxie, Fritz, who sighs when you scratch my belly even when I don’t have an itch. the related memoir vignette can be read at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/runt_of_the_litter_13668
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