On Losing the Old Dog
It’s bad enough the car is empty
No panting navigator
But the house is empty, too
Dog empty, anyway
Cats don’t fill the same spaces
So we stumble to the bedroom
Seizure-soiled and shocked
By the sudden expected loss
Six months of grasping last gasps
New medicines and doses, new emergencies
Years beyond the playful toss and fetch
Leashed by arthritis, deaf and blind
The old dog had withered to mostly heart
We had withered with her
Miserable in our indecision
Hobbled by her pain
And ours
Holding on for dear life
Now gathering the cold grief
Of losing her too soon, the hot guilt
Of letting go too late, the hopeless
Clutter of responsibility and love
The empty hours ahead
by Rae Spencer
Rae on Twitter: @raespen_
Editor’s Note: Some poems speak directly to the heart. This is one of those poems.
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