Grace Among the Ferns

The ferns—sharp lime green, lean over 
the concrete like a woman over a boardwalk 
on a bright spring day like this, though maybe it is better 
with Grace’s curious nose assessing the damp earth
while ignoring its copious lizards. 
There is joy in the soft butt
of a dog disappearing into its daily necessities.
I am not sure I have ever had such a joy, 
either in discovery or expectation. Looking out
over the side of a boat
with a hat as wide as this fern 
is Grace, of the delicate paws.
I have never liked it: The Spring. But this is the 
end of Spring! First yellow of summer. They say a poet 
can never write a purely happy poem about a dog 
greeting the sun and what it has done to rain.
I don’t know about that. 
I am light like a canine’s memory; 
a minute, a world. Where one of the greatest 
and most daring feats is to enjoy 
the breeze’s slow boat of fertilization
made by other dogs of other years—the scent of
living in and of itself. Grace among the ferns
likes to place her body right over the pulpit 
of the last dog, so they know. I am here, too. Living.
Lime green ribbons touch her soft, wet nose.

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“I wrote this poem by following one sentence after another in a rare, uncomplicated moment of appreciation for the most beautiful things in life. It was inspired by my dog, Gracie, whom I love dearly and who has a proclivity for slamming her tiny body into my thigh while I watch shows or read a book. I’m interested right now in writing poems that aren’t weighed down by my desire to make them more significant than they are, and by the time I’m done, as with this poem, the significance often shows up—having arrived without me. I like them better that way, independent and undetermined. Gracie approved this message.”
—Analicia Sotelo