Old blazer.
I reach into the pocket:
A piece of plastic wrapper and a hole.
While pristine on the outside,
Both sides within are eaten through.
Instantly,
the ghost of an old dog is in the room with me,
the metronome of his tail slowly waving
while he looks away
to hide the twinkle in his eye.
I’m crafting a world
and living in it.
You’re part of the narrative,
if only,
you were there.
She wakes to the empty house
searching room by room for traces.
Has he gone?
But surely before such a journey
there would some formal leave taking?
A kiss?
A note?
He slipped away without a word,
and she is left bereft,
wondering why he finds it so easy to leave her,
wondering if she’s been devalued like Greek currency
or Bre-X stock.
No gold to mine after all.
Every couple crafts their own normal.
What’s familiar is what’s all right,
except when it’s not.
Being alone
Being lonely
There will always be too many cracks for
that broken pot to hold water;
it’s fine for bread,
though you
can’t live on bread alone.
Traces of something else,
gold veins of nourishment
are drawn with gestures
too easily forgotten,
so driving away is as simple a turning the key,
not as complicated as farewell.
She inhales a scent of memory
Old sweater that remembers the body it enfolded
Releasing comforting peace amid grief.
.
.
Thinking of a character in a short story I’ve been crafting, today.
When everything was expanding,
blowing out of proportion,
I found you.
No daily hour of pain.
Discipline brings results,
not agony.
A small discomfort yielding huge reward,
and a glimmer of hope.
.
.
It has been one year
without you.
I could take off mourning now,
remove a black cloak of outward grief,
but I will never remove the sense of loss.
It has been one year
without you,
but I still hear your voice
I hear your laugh,
your bad jokes,
another repetition of your life story.
I could take off a mourning cloak
but I will wear you on my shoulder,
hear you in my ears,
love you with every breath
until we meet again.
.
https://shawnbird.com/2015/07/25/obituary-herbert-mosses-duguay/
The universe conspires to send us messages.
Warm greetings from those who’ve gone ahead
Into the vast unknown, and we receive their love
and keep them alive in memory.
I laughed a little
remembering you,
saw a glimpse of your smile
between two clouds,
felt the comfort only you could give,
wished you were here
for more than a
glimpse.
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.
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 