Love and Dogs and Lower Dentures

LOVE AND DOGS AND LOWER DENTURES

When you're old, things hurt more.

Once Big Boy, my mother's little dachshund,
chewed up her lower denture, mangled it good,
and she went a long time without it,
munching her food, embarrassed.

She didn't hold it against him
but it was like one more thing -
her sight already failing
and her hearing not so good -
and now she couldn't chew.

It was one more sign in a sky
already too clouded with signs.
Because things close in on you when you're old
and the days get long
and then suddenly fold in on themselves
and you're staring death right in the eye.

And Lord, you don't mind dying so much
but when you get that old,
you just dread the change.

But Big Boy wagged his tail and wiggled
and she took him back into her heart
and never said a word.
And they went on together
as old women and their dogs do
and gave and received understanding.

And if Big Boy could have made her
another lower plate
I'm sure he would have
and I'm sure she knew this.

And when she died, he mourned her terribly
And I suspect it hurt her more to leave him
than anyone else.

And she'd have stayed, if she could, just for him
even though living wasn't comfortable anymore
and the smallest unkindness hurt unbearably.

Yes, when you're old, things hurt more
and love hurts most of all.

---(Albert Huffstickler)---
Reprinted from the 1995 Austin Poetry Festival Anthology
Posted over on Blakhole