April is cruel

The two dogs, like twin rag dolls, loll
under the table, too large anymore
to be comfortable. Eventually they army-
man crawl and fall into a spot
of sunlight, head-to-head, shoulder
to shoulder, rump to rump, one’s tail
thrumming a brief hello as I walk by.
 
My children use to lounge this way
their small arms touching, one’s head
against the other’s shoulder as they read
or drew or shared some seed of laughter;
naming things in their secret language.
The spoon and ladle or lid transformed
egot, lipsoduckle, sploon.
 
At night we curled into stories, poems,
songs. Their bodies stretched on mine,
two lizards, two creamy cats, drawing
warmth, seeking the proximity of my heart.
 
I should have never slept.