I stand framed in my mother’s doorway
In the company of the moon and the cold air.
Shivering a little in my white cotton shirt.
The cat appears from behind
And in his feline way of approval
Circles my legs and
Strolls off for his nightly hunt.
Leaving me alone with my thoughts and my coffee.
I walk down the stone path
Between flower beds and rhododendrons,
To the bottom of the garden
And turn into the woods,
Where I spent my childhood days.
Some days we were Indians with
Bows and arrows cut from
Long thin birch branches,
Or hunters squirming through the shrub
With a spyglass.
And Bo was always by my side.
A touch of sadness fills my heart
When I think of Bo,
His death and
How I buried him here in the woods.
I remember as if it where yesterday.
My lonely walk home,
And the days that followed.
Sadly staring out of the window.
My world had changed and somehow
It had never looked so solemnly.
Now I had to learn to think for myself and
Stand on my own two feet.
My parents never said a word,
Or inquired about his whereabouts.
They somehow took it for granted
That Bo just wasn’t there anymore.
My mother always said
He had a bad influence on me.
But she couldn’t keep us apart.
Alas like all good things must come to an end
My imaginary friend Bo also had to take his leave,
The memories however remain in the woods.
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Submission Name: Pooka
