Her Fella

persona poem

Her Fella

 

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the needle is withdrawn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 happiness

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Davidgeo]

It's a sweet sentimental tribute.

However, I re read it as though it was written by a sex offender and it was disturbing. Very, very disturbing.

But that is completely irrelevant. You write good and stuff.

[Carl "Papa" Palmer]

No, I did not find this review as constructive. I find it disturbing you would read it as though it was written by a sex offender, John. Very, very disturbing.

[Davidgeo]

Lighten up butter cup. Simply not having the same sense of humor does not mean someone should be thought of as disturbing. Not having the ability to see things through completely different view points is usually the mark of an unimaginative writer... being over sensitive to innocuous internet humor only enhances that flaw. I could find it disturbing that I have to explain that to a grown a*s man but I'm going to pretend that you being sarcastic instead.