Monday, January 12, 2015

Therapy Dog

So small is the woman
her wheelchair looms around her
like a man's boot
looms around a child's foot

So thin is the woman
her bones are like
bent grasses waiting
under an iced over pond

So silent is the woman
death is her only voice
and he whispers
walk on she's mine

And so I walk on past her
but the dog turns back
stands before her
and rests his muzzle on her knee

2 comments:

Sayre said...

Now that my MIL is in a home, I see a lot of this. Even if your woman never moves, she feels that muzzle on her knee and knows she is not alone.

ari_1965 said...

This poem isn't quite right. I keep working on it.