Little Pig

I love to hear the train thundering outside my window. Howling down tracks to places I've never been. Listening to Ray with only a Pig at my side. I've decided I need nothing more. Cheap smokes , soulful music, and a little brown dog. I am more like my mother than I ever thought I'd be.
Rain falls suddenly against the glass, it has come down this way all day. Like a child playing with the bathroom spicket. On off, on off. I do love the sound of rain, the smell of it. I used to play for hours in the puddles left over from summer storms. Thinking of a life beyond West Virginia hills. Beyond the pines and years of unsettled fear. I wish for a day that I am suddenly content with everything around me. Sometimes I get the feeling I am there. That I am complete in this world. Others, I find myself lost.I think there should always be someone who understands you, better than yourself, better than your mother, or sister. Though I think a clumsy harmonica and strumming guitar have it down. I think a sullen voice all bluesy in the dark seeks my soul like I can't explain. If only the voice had a body laying warm next to me in this too often shared bed. Just one. A body with eyes that say smile. With hands that say exhale. With arms that hold you safe from any uncertainty. I wish I had a heart to share these nights with. I think that is where my pain derives. Where my tears spring from. The thought of always sitting up on these late nights, these quiet early mornings wishing to have someone here. I crave the unconditional attention and confused love.
 Love.. what a word. A phrase that has been said with the greatest ease, and with full-hearted honesty. Has been shared between a mother and child and the most passionate youths. A simple word that turns friends into lovers, that has crushed the thrones of kings and put a burn in the chest of every man. A fire never to leave or stay as you would like. Pig persists. Placing her head on my itching hands. She hates for me to love anything but her, though I doubt she fully understands my love for her or anything else for that matter. Being a dog limits you to the knowledge of men. I am sure she is regularly set in a state of awe and bewilderment to see us strange creatures at our usual. We must seem odd to her simplistic mind. We seem odd to us too Little Pig, we seem odd to us too.