The Next Salvation

I want to tell you about the time 

   I, as a child, rode a palomino bareback 

   at a hippy commune, and it ran wild 

   toward a closed gate that it would have 

   jumped, but for the heroics of a naked   

   guy on a chestnut gelding.

I want to tell you about my family's first dog, 

   adopted at the cusp of my teen years,

   with whom I took long walks and 

   had endless soul-baring talks, until 

   she was given away.

I want to tell you about my gray hamster, 

   whose curiosity got the best of him    

   when he escaped his cage once 

   too often, and came face to face 

   with the cat on duty.

I want to tell you about one of my goldfish, 

   who lived seven years in a bowl 

   I wish I'd changed more often, and 

   for whom my grandfather cared 

   after I left for college.

I want to tell you about three of my most-beloved 

   cats, and how--after 14 years--

   my heart shatters 

   a little every day because 

   I had to leave them behind 

   to escape a life-threatening situation.

I want to tell you about one of life's 

   true miracles, which flows in 

   through the cracks and crevices in 

   the walls I've built around my heart, 

   softens the edges of past losses, 

   takes my hand, and leads me--its

   willing victim--toward the next 

   beloved, the next heartbreak, 

   the next salvation.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six