Asked, I Cannot Tell You What He Feels by Patricia Wallace Jones

Asked, I Cannot Tell You What He Feels

I can only say how they begin and end–
an arresting cry then a startled look
as vocal chords contract seconds before
his hand flies skyward and legs give way.

Shorty, part Aussie herder, beats me to him;
attacks his pant leg, the perceived intruder
until, freeing a hand, I can shoo her away.

Lumpy, sweet feline familiar, hangs in,
rides them out near his feet alternating
between wide-eyed and yawning.

Within a minute he blues about the mouth,
shakes violently and goes rigid; then comes
the grinding, blood and saliva, the soiling
and it’s over.

He will remember nothing;
may or may not ask why his jeans are wet,
his left eye bruised and tongue is sore.

Gloves are advised but I never use them
convinced that touch can be curative.

by Patricia Wallace Jones, first published in Wordgathering.

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Editor’s Note: This heart wrenching poem speaks to the caregiver in all of us.┬áLove pushes us into difficult wildernesses.

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