CAROLYN O'DOHERTY
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January 2016

3/26/2020

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     It snowed today. When I woke at 5:30 the porch was speckled with white chips of ice and by 7:00 the entire yard was covered with cold white. Overnight, the last annuals lost their lingering green, leaving behind only empty branches, curled and brown. The house is very quiet. The dog isn’t snoring in Ryan’s bed, the sound of her nails doesn’t clack against the hardwood floor. They’ve grown quickly recently, her nails, as if making up for all the other ways her body is failing.
     I make coffee and watch the snow drift onto the patio furniture I’d meant to bring indoors.
     When we brought Rosie home for the first time she was eleven pounds—two handfuls of oversized puppy. We tried to walk her, but her tumbling feet, combined with the strangeness of the leash, made her give up after a block, and she sat her little self firmly on the sidewalk and refused to budge. We laughed at her, scooped her up, and carried our wriggling little friend where we wanted to go.
     Rosie is ninety-five pounds now and carrying her isn’t an option, but she still shows her displeasure by sitting down. Not heading toward the park? Not interested.
     It’s still funny.
    The snow is falling harder now. Soon the yard will turn into a blank slate, a smooth surface vanishing lost tennis balls, gnawed branches, and unmentionable deposits.
     In a few hours, we’ll bring Rosie home for the last time. We’ll take her from the vet’s sterile cage to the house I’m not sure she’ll recognize. She’ll pace, sleep. She won’t eat. She’s unlikely to drink.
     The vet says it’s a brain tumor. She says we are doing the best thing. We all agreed this is humane.
     I sip my bitter coffee and watch as the snow transforms my world.

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The ugly duckling

10/21/2018

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Frog Prince II

10/7/2018

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The pied piper

9/2/2018

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The Frog Prince

8/26/2018

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breakfast

5/11/2018

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The morning broke
Harsh as bitter coffee
Light falling too brightly
Across the sticky counters
 
The morning broke
Like used up eggs
Hard shells reduced
To fragile shards
 
The roaches retreated
Waving their antennas
To signal their defeat
 
The people rushed to their cars
Carting backpacks
And overdue papers
 
The mice stayed behind
Feasting on coffee grounds
And leftover smears of jelly

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wishes

4/20/2018

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The crab crawls across the beach, sand flicking away from his twisted legs in little furrows. The crab’s eye stalks wave towards the sky, searching for the shadow that brings silent wing-borne death. All that whispers from the air today is wind. Maybe, he thinks, the wind will bring a genie. Wishes will be granted, children will fly, and men will turn invisible. The crab skitters sideways to avoid the remains of a large shell. The crab wishes that his shell was hard as diamonds and that it emitted a seagull thwarting scent. The shell wishes that it still rested under the sea, where the surroundings were cool and no one picked it up and set it to molder on a shelf. What about the genie? Does it get a wish? The genie just wants to dissolve into the wind and float around the world in a vague, disparate, cloud, untroubled by the desires of man or crab or shell.
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lunch

3/5/2018

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Outside the window, the owl sang softly to the mouse, hoping to lure her out into the night. The mouse laughed to herself, hunkering down under a mossy rock and watching the clouds drift across the moon. She chewed on one tiny nail.  She groomed the tip of her tail, the soft bit where a few silver hairs grew. The owl tried a different tune. The mouse grew bored. She wondered, if she ran very fast, could she make it to the blackberry bush across the way? Her little hear pitted and patted. Her whiskers twitched.  The owl paused its song and the mouse stuck her nose out and sniffed.
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Daisy dog

2/18/2018

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The dog sleeps. Or not. She turns on the bed, sighs, and dozes again, dreaming of eternally elusive squirrels. The sun slides across the window, illuminating first the pillow, then the bedspread, then the floor. The dog scratches her ear. She gazes at me with mournful eyes. Wouldn’t I like to play? Take a walk trailing that long red leash? Stand in the dog park idly chatting with strangers while she romps? I do not make eye contact. The dog goes back to sleep. Or not. My fingers dance across the keyboard, words flashing, written, erased, always marching onward to fill a page. She doesn’t notice when the clicking stops. She doesn’t judge when I play solitaire. I stand and she is instantly awake, tail wagging as she trots at my heels. So eager, my shadow. She watches me make lunch with unfounded optimism. She watches me eat it with resignation. The bed awaits her return, the covers rumpled and smelling like dog. The keyboard resumes its erratic clicks. The sun drifts westward. The dog sleeps. Or not.
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Is This yours?

2/1/2018

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She sat on the bench eating a sandwich
It tasted like ink with a dusting of apostrophes
When she bit into it, the letters scattered
Pigeons pecked at them
Heads bobbing
Swallowing them one by one
Is this yours? a man asked, holding up an “L”
She studied his suede boots
The pigeons lifted their heads
Their eyes as bright as pins
The man kept walking
Wait, she thought, but he didn't
She watched the boots cross the plaza
One blue, one red, a flag without stars
She thought he might be the star
She wished she hadn't eaten the sandwich
She should have saved the letters
Strung them together
Created words
Told the man her name
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    Scribbles
    Scribbles are thoughts, musings, stories, and poems. Scribbles are inconsistently added, quick, short, and (hopefully!) fun.

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© 2023 by Carolyn O'Doherty
  • Books
    • REWIND >
      • Buy Now!
      • Excerpt, Chapter 1
      • The World of Rewind
      • Rewind Photos
      • Study Guide
    • UNLEASHED >
      • Buy Now!
      • Excerpt, Chapter 1
      • Unleashed Photos
    • RECKLESS >
      • Buy Now!
      • Excerpt, Chapter 1
      • Reckless Photos
  • About Me
    • Top Five
    • Reading List
    • Author Interview
  • Scribbles
  • News/Events
  • Contact