Outside my window: blue sky, new green.
Promise and potential
A future of fecundity.
Inside my heart: fog, ice
You are gone
The planet is too joyful
for such a day.
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NaPoWriMo Day 26.
The prompt today was for a humorous parody, but as I received the news of the death of another dear person in my life this weekend, humour is not on my mind. 4 great losses in 10 months. What a wearisome year this has been.
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Ignore any ads following
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Just like that
you were back.
A flash.
Years had disappeared.
Your hair glistened in the light of the theatre,
our laughter and the crunch of popcorn on the air.
A flash.
Grief seeped through me,
sucking me back to the day they said
you were gone.
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RIP Lloyd. 1964-1997 No one is truly dead until they are not remembered any more.
I’m waffle making
and suddenly
the loss of you
is palpable.
Did I ever make you waffles?
Still, your absence at this moment
overwhelms me,
and I fill the emptiness
with tears.
I am overwhelmed
by my responsibilities
and the weight of my grief
that creeps up unexpectedly
to undermine my clarity
to bury me with memories
and underscore my sense of loss.
I’ll hide myself from Helios: find
some sand to stick my head beneath.
I feel you curled against my back.
I stroke your warm body.
I gaze into your soft brown eyes,
that gaze lovingly back to me.
I wonder whose ashes are in the box:
Conspiracy theories.
Painful realities ring with the alarm clock,
and my contentment turns to ashes.
I had some errands to do,
and it’s always so hard to leave you
after I’ve come home,
so I went to the library,
and the grocery store,
and then to fold my mother’s laundry.
When I pulled into the garage,
he told me you were in trouble,
I rushed to see you.
You looked at me with anguish in your eyes,
your belly hugely distended. I told you to come,
you went straight to the car, because the car is always good.
I raced you to the vet, my hand on your shoulder,
knowing.
I sat on the exam room floor with you
feeling your racing pulse and your icy breath.
I held you as you died.
Thirty minutes of pointless errands
when I could have been with you,
thirty minutes less pain you would have endured,
thirty minutes I will not get back, but will always regret.
I’m thankful for the fifteen minutes I had to hold you.
I’m so sorry for your anguish in my arms.
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My heart dog OJ died of gastric torsion on Friday. He was fine at lunch. Dead at 5:00. We don’t know how it happened after 15.5 years, but standard poodles are deep chested dogs that can be prone to bloat, though it’s not in his line. I had hoped he’d go in his sleep, not suffering so much, but it was easy to request the shot to save him from his agony, though by then it was likely only moments of ease.
And so I wake on the first morning
without my heart dog.
No thumping tail to greet me
No clicking nails tattooing down the hall.
No urgent woof encouraging me
No stinky kisses
to comfort me aching.
No rolling for a belly rub
with contended sighs and eyes blinking
nonchalantly, as if you were surprised
to find my hand caressing you.
No need to put my purse up high,
or guard food on the counters.
No rattling as you did dishwasher pre-wash.
No.
Only bits of fluff, still hiding in corners
after your last hair cut,
a hundred photos,
and a million memories of a sweet-tempered,
loving heart that beat with mine.
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Oh, how I miss my boy today.
Today,
grief is a roller coaster,
clicking forward minute by minute
and then with an errant thought
dropping my belly to my knees.
Dad came for a visit
and we discussed laundry soap
in my dream.
He didn’t ask about Mom,
and I didn’t tell him.
Your sweater is here
and if I breathe deeply enough
I’m in the scent of your embrace.
Shawn L. Bird 