I walk into the library accompanied by
the soft clopping of a faithful donkey.
If I slow, its hoofbeats slow.
If I hustle it keeps up with me.
I’ve long wished for a donkey of my own.
I pictured a large-eyed grazing animal
with toothy grin and love of scratches,
maybe named Bartholomew or Lysander.
Imagined he might wear wildflowers
I’d woven into a crown,
at least until he chomped them down.
This clopping is not that donkey.
Instead, a sole of my long-worn shoes
has come loose, flapping so wide
each footfall offers a grin as I ride in.
Laura Grace Weldon lives in a township too tiny for traffic lights where she works as a book editor, teaches writing workshops, serves as Braided Way editor, and chronically maxes out her library card. Laura was Ohio’s 2019 Poet of the Year and is the author of four books.