TRYING TO READ

SCRAAATCH- SCRAAATCH!

The cocker spaniel claws at my study door.

It's not that he wants to come in.

Or that he misses my charisma.

He simply despises barriers.

SCRAAATCH- SCRAAATCH!

Groaningly, I turn from the heart

of my story, about a woman trying

to run away.

I rise from my warm micro-fiber couch,

the color of slate or regret

and open into the dog's pink panting,

shattering score of the Pitt-Syracuse game,

arm-flapping pierces of my husband,

steam-lifting lid of beef stew, harsh

white whirling of the washer.

For a spiked moment, I hesitate—

like the two-minded woman

in Tyler's novel.

Should she stay

and drown in mediocrity? 

Or disappear into dark rousings

of the city? 

I sigh,

and slip silently back

into the humdrum

sounds

of my life.