If I do it, will I regret it?
Afterwards, will I find
That the frenzied buzzing of thoughts
gives way to a mind devoid of anything?
That coordinating every
single
muscle required to stand up
is too much effort?
That, if I try,
I can wrangle words into a sentence in my mind,
but as soon as I open my mouth to speak
they disappear?
That, at dinner,
when I drop peas all over the floor,
I break down crying
because it's all too much,
wordlessly screaming at reality to stop
because I don't have the energy
to deal with this
on top of everything else?
That at night I'll lie awake
because I'm too tired to sleep?
She looks at your dinner and back up at you
And you look into her beautiful, sad eyes
and want to give her everything.
All the food on your plate, all the toys in the house
Everything you own
and still you know she deserves more.
Soon you're wondering how to pluck a star
from the sky and wrap it up with a ribbon
Just to see, as she plays with it,
the way her eyes light up.
I wrote this for Casper Kerrivan while worrying about his dog Cinder. She had a health scare but she’s okay now!
A book,
a sequel to a series
that I'd never finished.
Posters,
ripped at the edges
blu tack bleeding into the paper.
A temporary tattoo,
that I'd wear
when I got around to it.
Remnants of a former life
tucked under a bed
covered in layer
upon layer
of dust.
Refresh
Looks like he's having a good race.
The screen says they're travelling at a steady pace.
But – what's that? He's going off the trail!
Refresh
As other mushers pass the spot, I slowly become aware
The line on the map's in the wrong place. The actual path's elsewhere!
That's the explanation, right? They can't all fail…?
Refresh
A little bit later tracker and map reconnect.
I take a moment to relax while everything looks perfect.
I expect dogs and musher are having a great time.
Refresh
Why hasn't it moved? What's wrong with the tracker?
I need to know what's going on! Tell me – what's the matter?
Deep breath. It's only been five minutes. I'm sure he's fine.
Refresh
It's been a while. The dogs are probably asleep on straw.
While the musher gets food, they're curled up in balls.
My mind strays to possible dangers. My eyes stay glued to the screen.
Refresh
Maybe he's trapped somewhere, alone and scared?
Maybe he's been eaten by bears?!
Please tell me this isn't a repeat of the Cabin Kerfuffle of 2019!
Refresh
Maybe they're buried somewhere in the snow?
I should have gone to bed an hour ago.
Please, tracker, please update the page!
Refresh
The tracker's moved! There's been an update!
The musher and the dogs are safe!
And I can finally get to sleep now my fears are assuaged.
…
Refresh
This poem was written during the Willow 300. It’s about my experiences following sled dog races with the Ugly Dogs, as well as being a call out to the more easily panicked among us (including me!)
If you have no idea what I’m talking about, I highly recommend following Blair Braverman and Quince Mountain on Twitter for excellent dog photos and an awesome community.
The background of reality didn't load today.
The world cuts off at the end of the garden.
Glitches pass by – the fronts of cars,
with their lights cutting through the fog,
appear and disappear at random.
Mum tells me that, if I travelled
to the fence where the world stops
the field beyond would load like normal
and the sheep would pop back into existence.
I have no way to verify this.