When I lie down and press my face
against the bristle of his body, and hear
his dog-heart in my ear, I think
how definite death is, his animal life
so much shorter than my own, so real
I can already feel the loss, dank
and heavy as his breath,
but loving him anyway, loving him more,
perhaps, because of it, the way I love
all things I know won’t last. Once
I was told that they have no sense
of time, that, to my dog, after I leave
it’s as if I never existed, but when I come back
he has no memory of my absence. And this is why
he occupies his time with bathroom trash
and sofa cushions, reducing all I’ve left behind
into a ragged nest of moments. And this is why
I think of death when I lie down at night
by his side: because his life without me
is simple, because the death
I am afraid of is my own, because each time
I come home I am born again.
Winner of the Austin International Poetry Festival, 2011
This is so beautiful, Cynthia! I am going to carry this poem within for a long long time…
Thank you Uma! This one is still a favorite of mine, if I am allowed to have one of my own poems as a favorite!
Thanks for sharing this very moving poem.
Thanks for stopping by!