Twenty-nine years ago today
I held a baby in my arms,
after 9 months of nurturing her
under my heart. Reading everything on
growing the best baby, checking off the nutritional
requirements every day,
doing my best to be the best mom.
Dreaming about her future, who she might be.
Today, I hold a baby in my lap,
a black ball of fluff that wags its tail at me.
I studied its pedigree and now,
I watch training videos and imagine the fun we’ll have.
I might be a better puppy mommy?
We’ll see.
.
.
.
😉
I didn’t see your ghosts
feel your spirits in the air
I didn’t understand what
drove folks to leave there;
On Culloden Moor the Scots
were slaughtered and died
Then drove from their lands
in Canada they arrived.
Their hardy characters
explored from sea to sea,
naming off the rivers,
(and my university).
The brutal battle that was fought
upon this day
led to our confederation
and the TransCanada
Highway.
.
.
Most of what I know about the Battle of Culloden I learned from Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series. However, it’s very cool that my husband’s ancestor Dr. John Rattray was Bonnie Prince Charlie’s personal physician in Edinburgh, and was saved from the noose afterwards only by the timely interference of his golf buddy and judge Duncan Forbes. (John Rattray was Captain of St Andrews and one of the signatories of the official rules of golf in 1744. Cronyism in golf plainly goes back to the beginning of the sport).
Oh, how I miss your solemn eyes
Dark brown pools of devotion
and doggy wisdom.
Oh, when I stare into the
bright black buttons
of a puppy’s giddy newness,
I know how soon
he will have ancient wisdom,
and leave us, too.
Dear Grandma,
No one
wants to know
about the state
of your
bowels.
Please save
your colourful tales
of abdominal distress
for your medical advisors.
Elimination is
NEVER
appropriate
dinner table
conversation.
.
.
.
(You’d think this was common sense, wouldn’t you?)
He
mistrusted her
misted her
missed her
Ah
mystery
miscellany
misogyny
Yes
his miss
he missed
through mist
For
miss
such mister
she must.
I dream sienna
Sunsets drippppppping
Onto rocks
Carving red rivers
That slice down
…………….down
…………….down
…………….down
…………….down
Like blood bathed tears
Slice flesh.
It is a Grand Canyon of pain
River winding edge to edge
Touching grief upon grief
From the top
Black trees silhouette
Against a flaming sky
scorched earth burning
in the beauty of pain.
It’s new again.
Baby love.
Cuteness overload.
I miss old, familiar love,
but this sweet face is balm
to a broken heart.
.
.
Miniature poodle Mrang Such Outlandish Style (Kiltti) 13 weeks old.
It is lonely
Seeing ghosts of wagging tails
Dancing feet and twinkling eyes.
To remember joy made physical
Only because of my existence.
It is lonely
To catch the movements
From the corners of my eyes
Of furry bodies no longer present.
Grief is a hard, hard, hard burden.
But you,
Are lighter without the responsibility
Lighter with the freedom
Lighter from the consequences.
Lighter with the isolation
That is not loneliness to you.
But oh,
It is to me,
And my heavy heart struggles
With this burden of grief.
Knowing you. Knowing me.
Knowing the sacrifice you make
To bring some relief from grief,
To bring me a piece of joy again,
Wagging on the tip
of a tiny tail.
2016/04/08
Shawn L. Bird 