Notes About The Poem
This is the morning ritual as I see it from Tim's point of view. I hope I'm correct. Tim is blind and has congenital hydrocephalus. He lives in his own world, but allows me into it.
My Morning With Dad
My Morning with Dad
Kevin Davis 2024
I wake before the light knows it’s morning,
stretching my legs, shaking the night from my fur.
The house is quiet, but I hear him breathing,
So, I pad over, just to be sure he’s still there.
Water first. Then food. Cool air outside.
The my world hasn’t changed overnight.
I bump a chair; they moved when I’m not looking.
But Dad never minds. He just laughs softly.
I search for him by scent, by memory, by love.
Dad calls my name, and the sound is warm,
A hand reaching across the room. I follow it gladly.
There’s a treat waiting. There’s always a treat.
I sit tall so he knows I’m ready, nose working,
Tail thumping, hoping he’ll brush my head the way I like.
When he does, I melt into the floor, proud of myself,
I'm good, and proud of him for noticing.
Then I lie by his feet, the safest place in the world.
While he sips his warm drink that means the day is beginning.
These are our mornings, slow and perfect,
Until the other voice calls from down the hall.
Mom's voice is bright; I hear a door opening.
He stands, happy, and I stand too,
Wherever he goes, that’s where the day is.
That's where I want to stay.
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