Comment on this article

Her Fella
by Carl Palmer

she rubs my head
runs her fingers across my face
and she cries
she holds me tight
her head next to mine
and she cries
I tell her that nothing has changed
I try to explain
but she doesn’t understand
she hasn’t understood anything I’ve said
for the past five years

we’ve been together since she was a little girl
we understood each other then
she’d talk with me for hours
she’d look into my eyes
tell me all her secrets
evenings on the porch swing
or in the yard, laughing and playing
or in her room, lying on her bed
watching her every move

I learned so much from her
she taught me what she liked, what she didn’t like
she’d ruffle my hair. Give me a hug and a kiss
speak to me in her special way
she called me her Fella
she’d say, “Come here, Fella”
and I’d be right there by her side
ready for anything she wanted to do
that was then

as she grew older, became a teenager
became busy, became popular
she had less time for our long walks together
our talks were what I missed the most
I was still her Fella, still there for her
but she was out growing me
soon she didn’t talk with me at all
sometimes at me but never a conversation
and sometime during that time
she stopped hearing my words altogether

now barely out of her teenage years
time seems to have gone by so quickly
our fifteen years together
her, so full of life
so vibrant, so youthful
but me, I feel so old
as if I have aged seven years
for each one of hers
some days I feel at least a hundred years old

and now she treats me like that too
lately she’s spending more time with me
I love that she’s doing that
it’s just the crying
I wish she wasn’t so sad
she holds me close
rocks me and she cries
she carries me everywhere
won’t let me do a thing
does everything for me
and she cries
we get into her car, I love to watch her drive
she used to look my way and smile
today she stops several times
takes me in her arms
and cries and cries and cries

we enter the cold, bright room, yet I feel peace
I feel her tremble
as the doctor shaves my wrist
just above my paw
the needle is withdrawn
I feel warmth and am happy
we romp and play in the yard
her and I
laughing and shouting
in words we both understand
just like before
before she began to cry

Originally appeared in A HUDSON VIEW,
Vol. 1, #4 ISSN 1540-5036
It was nominated for the Pushcart Prize.


Return to:

[New] [Archives] [Join] [Contact Us] [Poetry in Motion] [Store] [Staff] [Guidelines]