How It Began

André Kertész, Boy Holding Puppy, 1928
André Kertész, Boy Holding Puppy, 1928

How It Began

William Stafford

They struggled their legs and blindly loved, those puppies
inside my jacket as I walked through town. They crawled
for warmth and licked each other—their poor mother
dead, and one kind boy to save them. I spread
my arms over their world and hurried along.

At Ellen’s place I knocked and waited—the tumult
invading my sleeves, all my jacket alive.
When she came to the door we tumbled—black, white
gray, hungry—all over the living room floor
together, rolling, whining, happy, and blind.

. . . . . . . . . . .

I love these images; I feel like I can see all of the scenes in this little poem so vividly in my head.

Hope you have pleasant, autumnal weekends ahead! We’re hosting my in-laws and their pup Georgia for the weekend, so there’s sure to be lots of backyard romping and afternoon walks.

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