I was convinced she would never leave
even though the truth of it
ran alongside faster
as she slowed
in the end a quiet moment
took the comfort of her large dog self
and tucked it in the sky
now her gaze is a soft kiss on clear nights
when the stars are watching
________________________________
For my Newfie Aggie
July 23 2009 – August 28, 2021
Can a vacuum exist
without the memory
of that which it expelled
to give it shape?
Surely it can’t be
a true void if it has
held love.
countless shed
in rage and grief
for loss of life
and love’s escape
but know my friends
that tears
rejoin the earth
to fall again
as rain
and with these
moonstone drops
comes life renewed
a moment’s chance
to heal and wash
the stench of hate
into the sea
and pray
the only swords
we need are
gentle arcs
of green
sun turtle lines
of remnant tears
safe havens
for our memories
___________________________________
a poem for a day that always brings the echoes of a loving grief. I send these words to join those voices raised to shout aloud their sadness in the face of tragedy.
How is it
on the mountain, friend,
your spirit free
to roam the peaks
while others only visit,
awed by your home?
Can you see
the wonders that
your children are,
carrying you forward,
best parts mostly,
through life’s flow?
Do you know
I miss you still,
regrets dimmed,
a mind’s eye memory
of boundless energy,
on the night we met?
Is that you
beside me in the woods,
silent escort through
the marshes, dogs in hand,
then safely home,
here for the asking?
Yes
_____________________________________
For Mike, whose birthday was today. the photo is of Mount Lafayette, where his ashes rest.
red napped nobbled berries
plucked from thorns and
regrown canes
fall gently into toweled
coffee cans, string hung
equal portions meted out
for waiting eager mouths
rich cream drizzled
white sugar grains
my spoon holds bliss
______________________________
for Day 12. a favorite place, memory, food.
there is no more fog
and I am soaring
through these brilliant stars
above an open sea,
memory reclaimed at last.
even as I leave you,
going on alone for now,
winglike glowing tendrils
wrap me in their light
and warmth, strands
of our shared time
that can never break.
there will always be
a part of me alive,
held in your
hearts, or seen
among the trees
joy fanned by wagging dogs,
an artist’s brush,
the feel of things well built,
soil deep tilled,
good stories told,
the pop of corks,
sure handed trimming
of a wind filled sail,
upright honor, honesty,
deep rooted, long felt love.
even as the world around me
faded for a time,
and I seemed lost,
a quiet spark lived
in my soul, fanned
by the breath of love,
my anchor in this final storm,
and in its light
I knew you all.
___________________________________
for William Eastman Janes, a cherished friend who set sail and left us this morning. crabtown won’t be the same without you Bill. vaya con dios.
We carry with us
an unwilling certainty
that animals we love
will leave before we do,
taking with them
pieces of our hearts,
undimming coals
that light the way
and speed their journey
to another plane.
Death is not the
end of love,
merely a delimiter
once its torch is lit.
The bond created,
its existence
even unremembered
in the living world,
cannot be undone
or the joy obliterated.
Its ripples reach us all.
So while these
cherished creatures
live among us,
love is best held close,
celebrated clear eyed
and without regret
even as we know
its glow will one day
be reflected
in the sky at sunset,
a glint on dancing waves,
or from the flash
of deep night stars.
_______________________________________
The loss of an animal can bring us to our knees, because they often need us to make the choice to let them go. What remains to comfort us is the memory, the spirit of love.
[the photo was taken at Black Dog Farm, Thanksgiving 1994. As you might imagine, to get all those dear Lab faces so perfectly lined up, food was involved, off camera. Sammy, my heart dog and protector, now long gone, sat 3rd from the left.]
What visits me today?
A lullaby in baritone
and funny bits of song,
dreadful jokes
in nuanced tones,
bearded bristle paired
with a million kisses,
all too human shoulders
I thought and hoped
were everlasting granite,
long held friendships both
a gift and an example,
the pungent scent of cuban leaf
lit anywhere but in the house,
a feel for speed and open road,
the skies he loved and flew so well,
laughter books and music
with the color light and form
he looked at every day,
these brought him peace,
the certainty of love
from open eyes,
straight told advice
his caring deep,
his spirit so ingrained,
that now whenever
need is great
I conjure loving echoes
of an imperfect
perfect father,
to see me through
the dark
_______________________________
My father died at 89 in 2005, suddenly, but blessedly not alone, my sister was with him. His legend looms large in our lives, to quote a beatle, and I know we all miss him, need him, still and always.
Once spied up on a dusty shelf
and brought home as a prize
the stuffing bowl sits quiet
holding memory in its curve
The sisterhood of early rising cooks
assembling the ingredients
of timeless celebrations
ingatherings of family and friends
all linked by common filament
It waits for careful hands
to lift it down and fill its heart again
with love and thankfulness
_______________________________
My sister Annie and I have always called each other on Thanksgiving morning, up early, cooking.
Life With Horace 