Two Places

This morning, I was answering your voice with a yeah, uh-huh. But my toes kept pulling at my attention. The dog's gaze held me from the floor, even as the call went on. It wasn't waiting, wasn't wanting. It was only watching, with me, the morning that had settled on the tops of my feet. The longer the call went, the more I was in two places. One where your voice reached, the other where the morning stayed at my feet. When the call ended and the dog turned its head, only then did I breathe out too. Most of the words that passed between us have gone, but that morning stayed right there at my toes.