LAST VISIT
I recognize the man on the other end
of the leash. We all three
get off at the cancer floor and I know
whose love has summoned this dog.
I've seen his picture in her room here
and on the wall a calendar
of Bernese mountain dogs, strong for work
or love. I've read about him in her poems,
the puppy meant to be her sick boy's
friend, who at Sam's death walked the fields
with her. Who came to know
the hand's unsteadiness on the leash.
His fur must have caught and held her tears
like Sam's soft flannel quilt.
The dog is led away into a darkened room
where last things now are first.
The family's gathered, so I stay outside.
Perhaps someone will lift her hand
and bury it in the familiar coat--
so beautiful, the black and brown and white
separate but blended, and the wet black nose
that used to point her home.
-- Judy Rowe Michaels
REVIEWING THE SKULL
WordPress Editions, 2010
No comments:
Post a Comment