The Best
Oh, dogs. Dogs, dogs, dogs, dogs, dogs.
Here she is. There they were.
Riding along, running along, alongside,
At my feet, on their backs, in my lap,
Kisses, kisses, kisses, kisses.
Play, play, play, play, play, oh, play.
Bark, snort, growl, yip, yap, giggle
Brave, yes, ready, always, obey, meh.
Hurray for food, naps, pissing!
Damn all fireworks!
Love, love, love, oh love, love
Dogs…and cats. Of course. Cats.
And
The Lost Elizabeths
Dead, of course. Long dead. The documents tell me who these Elizabeths and Catherines married, and what children they birthed, raised, or lost, but not who they were before they changed their names to his and his. They kept their English, Irish, French, Austrian given names, so often showing up as some version of Catherine or Elizabeth. Kathleen, Katrine, Kate, Kay. Eliza, Elsie, Berta, Birdie. Last night I found a new (old, so old) marriage record and finally, for Catherine Eulalie, there is a surname. Wonderful discovery, that. Eulalie, as she was called, lived twenty years before she married Charles, and maybe I can find out who her parents were, where they came from, where I come from. Maybe these women who contributed their DNA were harridans, but I choose to think of these lost Elizabeths as gentle women and as, certainly, brave women. I’m going to continue to search for them. It feels like I owe them that.
