The friendly hand upon dog’s head laments
its own losses
We have that in common each of us
at least once pushed by the Heavy
passing in the hall or on its hasty way
to the door of loved ones.
Our shape is changed forever
leaving us limping or slouched
meeting strangers in the afternoon.
Let the grass grow
Walk the dog
Only reminds her of all her losses
Thirty-five years
Seventeen years
Fifty-three yeas
The stories are all around us
A child
A dog
A husband
She says: and look how the suns shines today
A bee buzzes past us & she leaves
Me weeding as if it mattered
But today I see how much is does.
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