Sinew and Silence

After my son died, I forgot how to be human. Breathing felt like betrayal. Food, impossible. The floor was the only place that made sense. Then Lindy arrived: retired racer, all sinew and silence, a greyhound built to fly. He couldn’t fix me. But he was fully present in my grief, a sentinel to my stillness. Lindy wasn’t a therapy dog, but a witness. Nudging me with his snout, acknowledging my pain with a wordless knowing. He let me break. He made me breathe. — Mark E. Paull

An Expanded Family

One morning, while I was making rounds as a medical resident, a handsome nurse asked me out. Shayne was a gift of warmth and comfort when life was cold and punishing. He took me bowling; a few months later, I was pregnant. We would have two other children, get married, move to Ohio, Florida and back to Vermont before I found the courage to tell him I’m a lesbian. I have a girlfriend now. Shayne does too. We’re family and next-door neighbors. Our tweens groan that we’re “so weird,” but agree that no one has more love than we do. — Britt Olmsted

Filling the Blanks

In the past 15 years, I’ve lived in 12 homes. Each spot has had bare walls. I buy art but don’t hang it. What’s the point when living alone? But last year, I met you at a dinner party. For some time now, you’ve been coming over to my apartment, and I to yours. I drive the highway between us and think: This is starting to feel like home. I look at my art and start mapping it onto the walls. Next time you come, could you help me put some up? Home, I believe, is a two-person job. — Florianne Jimenez

Poetry in the Park

My toddler, Hugo, believes in a world where toast feels disappointment, socks miss each other in the wash and the moon follows us home out of loyalty. He creates whimsical stories about puddles filling his boots, the wind lifting his hair. I used to think I was good with words, but his are better. More imaginative, joyful, less afraid. He makes poetry out of breakfast, errands, the walk in our local London park. I used to want to teach him everything, but now I just want to listen. — Naomi Couper

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