Maryland Printmakers

Walking And Waking
Sue Anne Bottomley

My dog walks me at least twice a day.
He is a grateful, black, little stray.

His short legs paddle around the block.
If I'm late to work we race the clock.

The block is neither true round nor square,
It is more Matisse-shaped, I'm aware.

Breathless, around the corner we leap.
My street, six houses, where Fall leaves steep.

A parade of sweet gum trees, now tall,
Makes leaf prints on the walk, I swear, y'all.

Rains, or the acids, I cannot tell,
Cause the colors to transfer quite well.

So delicate, bold, the shapes are there,
Etchings, lithos, drying in the air.

They fade, we all do, one day, I fear,
"Remember me, world," is what I hear.