Coming Home

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A Poem

Photo by Tracy Willis

I crouch on the porch,
screen door propped
against my back
as she rushes to me,
her brown, whiskered face
smiling,
her ears cocked forward and high.
She rears up
on hind legs
and plants her forelegs on my shoulders
to kiss my waiting face.

She is a passionate
and sloppy kisser,
not unlike my first boyfriend
whose kisses I wiped off
after he walked away from my locker
to make it to algebra class on time.

But I don’t wipe off
her loyalty,
her unwavering devotion,
or her joy.

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Tracy Willis
Writers’ Coffeehouse Collective

I'm a teacher who woke up one day and asked, “How the hell did I get here?” Writing compels me, and I've learned to listen when the universe speaks. Finally.