The Versesmith

Edward the Goldendoodle - 2009 - 2019 The loss. It hurts. The pain of losing man or beast. Our heart does not differentiate between the two, while in our head we know that man should be grieved for more, mourning is not a rational being. But, think of this… The many loving years passed in companionship. The daily life amid the friendly furry paws, which gave us nothing but kindness. He who knew no harsh words, seeking only to hear our words in his ears. Our schedule dictated by his own needs, ten o’clock, it’s “pill time.” Now that time is ours, yet empty. No rejoicing in the freedom, while Boo glances at the door, asking us to let his brother in. The brother he saw leave with us through that door, yet not return.   (Please, don’t sniff the room!   Don’t race the yard to check the corners!   He isn’t here.) The loss is new. The pain is sharp. Don’t ever say, “He was just a dog.”   ...

For this poem I used random words found on page 57 of Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter by Tom Franklin.  The poem does not refer to events in the novel!   The words: chest , buzzards, chain , lucky, hung , porch, limbs , absent   The poem: The lucky chain hung on the porch eaves wasn't. For he lay there, limbs absent, as three buzzards perched on his chest.     ©2019 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved