Ripe this morning for
mourning old losses
after a few hours alone
in this old house while
my dogs get hairdos
remembering too well
those grievous days
after my mother died
and Henry and Didimus too.
I spent my time wandering
any place at all that I could
think of just to be free of
the empty house that now
buzzes with the energy of
Rufus and Miles.
I walked that narrow path
along the creek
after three days away
Blue-Eyed Mary dancing
with Sweet William
two dogs racing forth
Kingfisher zooming low
I in my muddy boots
with the deep satisfying certainty
that every One, this I, all of us, were
precisely where and as we should be
breathing being blooming in that
exact and perfect now.
Lace curtains billow like sails
in the cool morning breeze
with bluejays for gulls
hanging overhead and I
am the captain of this boat
that is my bed with two
stout fellows, one
fierce the other lazy.
Me hearties!
Soon we shall spy land
a not too distant shore
where we shall disembark
to go in search of
mushrooms and wildflowers
carrion and enemies (to each
his and her own mischief).
Tonight we shall board this ship
again in readiness for
tomorrow’s expedition.
Rainy morning following a rainy night
and the little creek where my young sons
played recklessly rubber rafting after
a storm, shooting under the street
to come out on the other side
now rushes by without them.
In the woods lately my dogs
have been troubling the rotting
carcass of a snapping turtle caught
in the roots of a creek-bound tree.
I hope this steady rain has
whooshed it on downstream
making one less spot for me to avoid
out there where creatures lay just
as they’ve fallen
without ceremony
or marker.
For three weeks now in those woods
a cross, flowers and candles
have stood guard over the memory
of a young girl younger by far
than all my sons who seems
to have flung her life away
from atop the bluff
all her hope somehow
fallen to none.
And just that morning I
anticipating the return home
of my two far-flung sons
had wandered with my dogs
in our carefree way
those very woods
where that girl sought
solace by choosing
an end to the only thing
we ever truly own.
Lazy today, all.
Dogs, young lovers, solitary son, mother.
Bone tired, scratchy eyes, refusing to rise.
Lazy lazy lazy.
The small flat bear lies face down
at the foot of my bed as if even he
cannot be bothered cannot stand
the thought on this quiet day.
Clocks have artificially taken
an hour from our night.
Rain drips lackluster
too tired to pour.
Air does not stir.
Lazy lazy lazy.
Having sprung forward
the day itself
seems to have found
its energy now spent.
I had not seen one in a long time though
I always check that particular bend
in the creek up in that big tree knowing
very well no one likes to be caught offguard.
Today my dog saw it first on the ground
and raced forward. Only then did I notice
a large barred owl rising into the air
and landing in a tree not so very far off.
We had a staring contest, I through my
binoculars, he with his superior vision
and when I took a step forward he
took off again, clutching a prize in his claws.
We had interrupted the morning hunt.
I always marvel that I am so enchanted
by these sightings while they must wish
never to see me again.
Love for others means romance
candles rings and roses
but for me coming home to
my home my son my dogs
on a February day
after a week away.
Two ovals of dog
one black one red on my bed
poems in their heads.
Miles lies head in my lap
gazing up at me
love beaming from his eyes
into mine beaming love
back into his lusciously
lolling here of a morning
still and heavy
completely given over to
the luxury of loving and
being loved as only a
gentle-souled dog can do.
Tears frozen on the tips of my eyelashes
I trudged through snow-laden woods
my dogs and Mr. Kingfisher exuberant
and dashing as always.