Let Me Tell You Something

A lot of us are liars,
telling tales long past our days
of being out of school.

We’re the quiet town criers
selling our souls
on every street corner.

You may think you know us,
but every word we say could be truth
or fiction.

Anyone who uses—
anyone who chooses
their words so carefully,
should arouse your suspicion.

And when the muse conspires
with us to summon up
some notions we want to disperse
(be it story, tale, or verse),
we must discern
if we even dare trust her.

Just because you follow
us in our addiction—think
you’ve got us sussed,
(maybe I’m the biggest liar—
or worse, someone else entirely).

Kathleen Mortensen © 2017


One of our own

We lost our darling girl, Daisy last Friday, July 27.  She had struggled with  a thyroid condition and kidney problems, but we always seemed to be able to restore her to decent health and a good quality of life.  The end came without warning; on Thursday evening she was on Kev’s lap for her nightly cuddle and she was eating well, but by Friday morning there had been a drastic change and by Friday afternoon, I knew we were going to have to let her go.
I am so deeply sad at times, I can hardly express it.  I was her caregiver – the one to administer the medication – the gel in her ear twice a day, the special diet and the monitoring of every single change in appetite, and bodily function.  We had an absolute communication, she and I.  She trusted me implicitly and I never let her down.

When she was given the drug to put her to sleep, I leaned over and kissed her head and said, “Goodbye my Lambchop” and she made a little sound in response. I miss her so much!