image borrowed from bing
“What makes us suppose that only
the living mourn?”--Dave King
“No matter how deep my sleep is,
I will hear you, & not all the power of death
will prevent my spirit from wagging
a grateful tail.”--Eugene O’Neill
Standing on the sad deck at my den staring,
love I find/feel with languid lids looking
at the silly sign, by the girls carved;
TAFFY it reads, who I am & will be
My house of aging boards of gray
of me smells pungent sweet,
the soft blanket of red, the wood even
where I against it have rubbed.
Always the Bitch feeds me better nice
than the Himself; She heats it warm
or even gravy smothers crunchers,
while He in a hurry always scrapes & pours
wet or dry into bowls of bright chew glass;
but OK, at the table He allows many more
tongue licks from His dish and the Bitch
holds out smiling tough love.
My yard is small but big for me enough
with a strong fence of steel so tall,
and over 13 summers I peed on patch all,
forgetting never my treasures hidden
in corners of dark garden or porch-unders--
those lovely bones I love to re-dig
and chew dirty.
I know days shorter become as
my dog naps grow many & longer,
where I can romp again, leaping high
at squirrels that chide, without
that bad pain stiffness that awaits me now
catching up to me, singing meanly
in my muscles on stairs.
In early summer, the tradition honoring,
I pretend to like my summer shearing,
“she always looks like a puppy again”
with red ribbons dainty-tied behind my ears
that too much now I do not hear when
I am called or recalled.
Yes, I hear too much my name being called
by birds & other things of wings, knowing
too well, one day soon, or alone in the darkness
I will not able be to return from the Spirit Land
dream-traveling I do with my lids down.
But worrying not of me You should be,
for I will be pure love, light as sun ray,
floating, flying, hovering with my tail
as rudder, watching as before, still
waiting at the door;
so know this my People,
even though age has overtaken me,
a privilege it was to center be
in the circle of Your love,
and Your companion will be I
when the Adventure You finally share.
Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB
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