Lost animal of Christmas past,
with faded felt belly
frozen in grief to the sidewalk.
Floppy ears conceal eyes
too ashamed to face
the ashen depth of the fall.
Deprived of a sheltering black bag,
she lies exposed, less than garbage.
Discarded cords, old homework,
and a Disney Store bag from 2007
press against the slack form on three sides.
Her tired pelt casts shadows on jigsaw mats
that are not useful, not even fun.
Â Who used to love you?
Who tossed you aside?
Who remembers the morning
your child shredded the wrapping paper,
(decapitating a dozen printed snowmen)
and grabbed you from the box
hugging you with aggressive joy?
Where is your former perch
on a bunk bed or cedar chest?
You never chose this street, this corner, this end.
Nobody asked if you were done with love.
When I see the patchwork bow on your neck,
my ribs tighten in pain.
The pale hearts, flowers, and stripes
in green, yellow, and a hint of purple
are too faint to palliate
this heap of hopelessness.
But the colours found me, your witness, your friend.
Let’s sit together until the truck comes.