All my life, I have been stoic. I once told
my boss I didn't cry, because I was afraid
if I ever started, I wouldn't be able to stop.
He said that was a telling statement.
It turned out to be prophetic, because
when my dog died, I began to weep
and I am weeping still. Not in public,
but in my quiet rooms, as I read my poems
about his leaving; read books where the dog
always dies; watch movies where human
emotion triggers a vast sympathetic aching
in my heart. Tears slide down my cheek
onto the pillow that has a black dog face on it:
the receptacle of my eternal tears.
It is Monday. This is what I know:
when it feels like one is dissembling,
it is just the parts we don't need any more,
falling away. The grief, though, is real,
and as big as the last free lion dying alone
in the wilderness. I carry it with me.
I carry it in my heart, with its many losses.
I feed it hope: at the shore, in the forest,
when the music takes me back
to those golden days of dancing feet
and dreams - so many dreams.
Like the lion, it is giving one last roar
before it is forever silenced.
Inspired by Laurie Wagner at Wild Writing, and by the poem The Lunch Counter of Eternal Tears by Nikki Wallschlaeger. The italicized words are from her poem.
My conclusion is you can never replace a dog with another dog. You just get another faithful companion that you create new memories with.
ReplyDeleteI cry. My burden is I have no expectations of other people. I assume they will not hold up their side of the deal.
Ann, I so hear you!!! Human nature continues to disappoint me - it has robbed me of what was once an optimistic nature. I hate that.
ReplyDeleteTis a difficult journey when one feels the grief of life. It seems the heart will always weep as life brings heartbreak but, one must hold on to the moments of joy. A heartfelt post. Sigh
ReplyDeleteI understand that when you cry you cry for many things. Not only your beloved Wolf Dog but so many other things as well. One can remain stoic in public, but it is good that you now have a place you feel you can cry. Your poem is a reminder of the need to cry.
ReplyDeleteMy dog dying, many years ago, opened those flood gates for sure. I saw someone walking the same breed of dog just this morning...tinge of old sadness.
ReplyDeletePeace.