THIS POEM IS A BIG RED HEART

 

Phoenix

Sebastian

This poem is a six year old boy
whose dad and dog both died.
This poem is a crayon.
This poem is a big red heart.

This poem is a sweet and valiant little boy,
who has known tears, but who loves to smile.
This poem gets knocked down, and
bounces back up again.
Like the boomerang, it keeps coming back,
because it has known death, so it cherishes life.
This poem is a six year old boy
whose dad and dog both died.

This poem is a crayon held in a grubby fist
by an intent little boy
who wants a picture of his pain.
This poem can draw a stick figure dad
with a big smile, and open arms,
and a devoted droopy-eyed dog,
with floppy ears and an old soul.
This poem is a crayon.

This poem is a gigantic wobbly red heart
with a dog inside, along with the words
"Papa and Phoenix are fishin' in hevven".
This poem squeezes the heart
of his mother, who lost her mate,
then, one year later, held the furry body
of his old fishing pal as he went to sleep
for the very last time.

This poem has lost too many loves,
but keeps on smiling, loving and moving forward,
because of a small boy made almost entirely
of hope and trust and sweetness and love.
This poem is a big red heart.

for my prompt at What's Going On: a choice of either "This poem is...." or Hannah's Boomerang Metaphor form.

My heart is even sadder than it was when I first wrote this poem. Because Sebastian, the small boy in the photo and in this poem, with whom I spent time in his early childhood years, died last August in a boating accident, at age fifteen. Now he AND his Papa and Phoenix are all in "hevven" together. This world brings lots of people (and dogs) to love - but also, lots of losses.