My granddaughter’s eyelashes are arcs
of fringe at the edge of her lids
as she stares down at a sheet of paper,

her right hand, intent on capturing
the two dogs’ faces, guides a pen: Frida
with her sugar-cone-shaped snout

and triangular ears, inky coat
a dead match for her eyes, orbs
only visible when light catches them,

Sylvia with her paper-plate-shaped face,
kitchen-mop fur, fangs, and ray-gun glare
demanding food food food. When the portraits

are drawn, Molly’s blue irises rise to meet mine
and we both grin. Hers, with a gap where a baby tooth
used to be, traded to a fairy last week for two dollars.

When Susan Vespoli isn’t writing poetry and prose from Phoenix, AZ, she’s leading virtual writing circles for writers.com, walking her dogs, or riding her bike. Her work has been published in spots such as Rattle, Nasty Women Poets Anthology, Mom Egg Review, and New Verse News.

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