Hey, sick puppies,
lying, with your
bellies pressed to the floor.

I could kick you,
or I could tell you how
sorry I was, for going away.

There is a world
you don’t know. A universe
that your mother doesn’t like
to acknowledge.

It has no vegetation, and the waters
are wild. In more than one way
you don’t know how to swim.

I am still sick with pity
and cannot help but look back
on ripples that break the dark water
of my past.

There was so much
that I wanted to teach you,
and it’s hard to admit…
just wasn’t,
couldn’t be,
my place.

Boats came, and my ticket
was already damp in my hand.

Embarking, remarking
how the steam fluffed my hair,
I could not bear to acknowledge
her ignorance.

© Deanna Scutt, 2017