Keeper of the Keys by Penelope Moffet

Biscuit-colored fur
his ribs show through,
dark liquid eyes, Kai is
gentle as a doe but plants
his legs like stilts, looks sidelong
when I tug the leash.

Each day I’m here at one
to take him for a midday
pee and poop and amble.
Eager to go out,
once his bladder’s empty
he’s done with exercise

so we walk in circles, me
coaxing him on, him
pulling back. Sometimes
his white cheeks shake.

He walks up to a gardener,
stands as long as fingers rub
his head, his ears. More,
the chocolate eyes say. More.

Once he ran faster than a man
but now he’d rather meditate
than sprint. He contemplates
each bush, each grass clump,
bit of trailing ivy.
Then he sighs.

Kai means Shell in Japanese,
Sea in Hawaiian, Keeper
of the Keys in Welsh.
Dog built like a deer,
yearning for his bed.
He tries to lead me home.



Penelope Moffet is the author of the chapbooks Cauldron of Hisses (Arroyo Seco Press, 2022), It Isn’t That They Mean to Kill You (Arroyo Seco Press, 2018) and Keeping Still (Dorland Mountain Arts, 1995). Her poems and essays appear in Eclectica, ONE ART, Citric Acid, Calyx and other literary journals.