(No) Small Regrets

Only big ones. The dog doesn't care.

“Write about small regrets,” I am told and I say no. Because I don’t want to and also, is there such a thing as a small regret? I can only think of enormous ones. The kind that roar and cut and suck the wind from me. The kind that scream - or worse - howl, “What were you thinking?” so that I am haunted all night.

And still the dog pillows herself into me. No matter where I am on the bed, she finds a crevice of me to settle into - a baby in the womb, beginning again.

The bedsheets are damp with my toil and trouble and thrashing. When will I get it all right?

And still, she breathes, snuggled so close, her heart beating into mine.