My Dream
My Dream
Thirty-one years I yearned—
For three hopeful ones, stuffed
$20 bills in a knee sock hanging
in my closet Finally, the call
Thirteen wolfhound puppies,
twelve days old
I eased into the whelping
box, settled under Mama’s
careful eye What instinct
drew you? Paddling
through shredded paper,
eyes still sealed shut
you swam across the box
heaved into my lap
gave a tiny sigh, fell asleep
You grew huge so fast
150 pounds of love-goof
Resting my head
on your chest, rising
and falling with each slow
breath—cross-species
communion
A death sentence
growing out of the bone
found my vet-tech fingers
Hot August air chilled
my breath froze
Osteosarcoma
You were only five
Oh our dogs! The love.what a wonderful way to remember with a poem. I still mourn my dog who looked a bit wolfhoundy even though I’m blessed with another dog who breaks my heart daily with love as well as drive me mad. Well done writing your poems daily. An inspiration to us all. Thank you.
So sweet and so sad, that final stanza... as final stanzas (in life as in poetry) often are. I so love "150 pounds of love-goof"... as, clearly, did you!