"Fiona's Middle," by Maura Quinn

The warmth against my body is comforting.

It’s Fiona.

My wife and I call the space between us in bed, Fiona’s Middle

She heaves herself into my back and heavily exhales.

When I was so sick from alcohol it was Fiona, gave me comfort.

Fiona was there, the warmth and pressure of her body against my back was comforting and calming to the shake I had within.

Now she is older. Her entry is not so much a leap but a step and a plop into her space.

She will be 12-years-old at the end of this month.

That is five years more than Hank, our first yellow lab, had.

Hank had the middle too. At his end it was Hank that was shaking and I was the steady warmth against him.

Now sober. I, like Fiona, have five extra years.

Who’s a good girl? I am. I’m a good girl