By Sarah Carleton
Evening snuck in while
you were knitting,
focused on a head full of knots.
Your labrador followed in a deeper hue,
blue-black, the color of nightshade.
She clicked over and sat on your lap
curled into your blue-linen underbelly,
her spine a crescent,
while you laughed, rough and rumpled.
You held her to your womb, pressing flat
the raveled strands.
Copyright 2018 Carleton