Two hundred?  In years it becomes two centuries, perhaps that’s fitting; I feel I could be that age, the sum of the days in which I have learned things.  But learned implies constant intentions/attention and I have not actively pursued what I know; most of it has been absorption, osmosis. 

I am two hundred years, or two hundred words; or why not say that I am two hundred minutes; three and a-half hours in the grand, ticking clock of time, less than a split second of history?  I make no difference; suffice to say I am alone in the opinion of my sublime importance. 

All that I know to be true is the message my hand can read when I touch things I understand, nerve endings reassure me; there is the muscled back of a spouse, here the peachy cheek of my child.  My surroundings define me, but I am transient; significant only inside this small capsule of experience.

Tomorrow I may become three hundred somethings and who knows that anything will remain to bear testimony to my existence; save bones and a carbon footprint.  Yes, I am two hundred-strong DNA.  With an elusive and mysterious twist, a Cyclops-like inner eye that has seen life from a uniquely Cindy point of view, an expedition taken in a sequence of different shoes.  The crochet baby shoe became the Bata school trainer; the wedding pump danced into a journey shared and the corporate high-heels retired into the guilty pleasure of comfortable shoes that linger in the library.

Out of the blue

on an ordinary morning

a black dog walked into my room

and lay down beside me

panting out a foul fog

of grim foreboding.


He gnaws on a bone of contention,

baying his lament of pending doom.


Why does he hound me,

when will he leave?


I will not indulge his brutal appetite,

he is uninvited.

©Cindy Taylor 2008

This is a composite / edit of some previously published posts.

Black dog may refer to: (wiki)



26 thoughts on “TWO HUNDRED

  1. I love this – love numbers as well and what they tell me and tell me not about life, about everything – what goes, what stays, what matters…

    The poem, what can I say? – it’s masterfully written – love that you listed the various interpretations of “black dog”, it emphasizes to me that the term in the poem is to be taken symbolically, or perhaps not, but I would have done anyway.

  2. Mmm… How many of us will leave any trace of ourselves when we have gone except in the memories of those close to us. Those questions are an invitation to the Black Dog to enter and keep us company… Very deep, Cindy.

  3. Very thought provoking.

    We are more (and less) than the sum of our parts, our experiences, our hopes, and our dreams.

    We are eternal mortals whose last breath may be our next.

  4. This poem showed us a different dimension to your writing…as always it was very well written…but the tone and topic seemed very different to me from some of your other poems….really enjoyed this one.

  5. The Black Dog is often unexpected, isn’t he? My heart sinks when he comes in. The glory of our flawed humanity is that each of us is unique. When you walk out of a cyber-room it is noticed, and each individual phrase or comment left leaves an imprint. We don’t forget the wise words of others. I suspect they are there with us life-long.

  6. Oooh..this was like a see-saw… from number crunchers (totally intriguing) to black dog…from DNA to sweet love to wikiphilia! 🙂

    Well well well…horizon is just a matter of how high one stands anyway!!
    LOVED this post, Cin!

  7. Masterfully wrought poem with depth and demension. I enjoy all of your posts, Cindy, without exception. This is particular though. I must say I think it’s a favorite. And the narrative … so thoughtful, so sane, so civilized. It’s about Life … and it’s true.

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