She stretches and yawns. It is just before dawn
I think she wants love and I stroke her small frame.
But she noses toward the door and stifles a bark.
I let her out in the yard,
watching her fade into corners of blackness.
Blackness of body, blackness of night
blackness of memory,
she reminds me of Amos,
in the field by the shed, lying still on his side.
The specter rises cold in my mind that nothing from that time
was in my power to change
but the life of a dog.
I am sorry
I left you with them,
your hardened chin chiseled and stalwart against
cruelty and neglect
they destroyed you right under my nose.
With one eye he asks in shades of realization
"Do you know the sadness at the end of all things?
Or do the flowing waters of life say to you in ripples
that we had a good run against impossible winds?"
He was small and tight with singular vision
a lost eye measuring nothing, not a sliver between his death and mine.
His gaze follows a trail of shame
complicity and ignorance.
What is cowardice but choosing the wrong fight?
I could have swept him up and taken him away. But I didn't.
There were so many more sides than mine.
That's how I felt staring out in the night.
It was easier then,
submitting to the crush of defeat,
easier than making a small wise choice,
the desperation of tiny victories,
rather than believing in his seat at the table
and finding only a chair in a house on fire.
She ambles to the back door, and I greet her with a promise and a smile.
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Comments: 38
Just know I was blown away.
Our animal companions aren't really "pets." They are family members. The way this poem continually blurs the distinction between humans and animals is amazing. I'm convinced that there is no true distinction.
Working it out on paper is therapeutic for all of us. This is a beautiful poem, Atticus.
But the reader might cry and think over your words very carefully.
As a poet, you bring us this truth about our ownselves in such a
fine and delicate fasion. Thank you.
John, Thank you so much. I am honored that my poem touched you, and honored by the comparison you make. I will check out STAYING ALIVE. From the reviews I just read it sounds like a tremendous anthology. Next stop: Amazon books. Your comment is greatly appreciated.
Atticus - how deeply compassionate.
That's the greatest Truth there is: forgiveness.
I've got a lot of courage, and have had difficulty all my life comprehending choices made by others out of lack of courage. Your words above give me a place to go for the kind of understanding I need in order to be complete in love (still a lotta work before me on that one!)
Thank you from the depths of my being.
Blessings and best wishes - S.
Carolion: Me too.
...and the 'crits in the vicinity look up and take note, and love us regardless.
Or those times when we choose reluctance to lovingly force the hand of another to take action; and still the late night visits, even knowing it was right for all concerned.
Your poem is from the perfection of imperfection... a small catastrophe lyrically, lovingly expressed. It's beautiful.
Nathan, Thank you so much for the kind comment. I am very pleased to renew contact with you also. I look forward to reading more of your wonderful work.
This is brilliant. The complex metaphors resonate to clarity. The reflectiveness is genuinely human and maturely so. Thank you.
I don't ordinarily point others to any of my posts but you had expressed an interest in reading some of mine. After reading your poem I suspect that you would appreciate: "Won't you love me? A villanelle."
By the way, I love the pelicans.