Howling Through the Healing

Jonathan Humanoid

I was raised by dogs
Ember fur a fire built
to find comfort in

I barely remember Penny.
She was my moms first guide dog.
Penny would watch me while I slept.
There are moments that are like a vhs
tape, not rewound, so when they’re played
there isn’t context for what the scene is
but I can feel the love she had for me. 
Once, she stole a puppet that I wanted
from a store we were wandering through. 
So I am told. I have a liminal memory 
that I cherish. There is a picture of her
dressed up, for Halloween. I know 
that I remember her because there
are pieces of that night that sometimes 
play, on the vcr of my long term memory. 

My mom’s words heal
My moms’ words whistle and scold
We are what shaped us

Corky was with us for most of my childhood.
This was a time when my memory was
an etch a sketch. Moments created in lines
that almost appeared real. Then shook into nothing. 
There is something solid among the mess 
of forgotten images, discarded, hidden evidence 
that I existed then, and now, and can recreate myself. 
We are in Yosemite. Beautiful place, unsteady hands
shaking with a sense of peaceful until when?
We are crossing a river, moving by jumping from
rock to rock. We are lost and there is tension 
because of course silence was a choose 
your own adventure book. My stepdad knew 
the chapters but we could only guess. Corky jumped in. 

Her fur floated wild
Smiling as she splashed
We followed and jumped

I remember Corky when I am afraid.
I would curl up into her fur and listen to her heart. 
Just as Penny used to do with me. I learned empathy.