This poem is dedicated to Korona, whom I never got to say goodbye to. This is my farewell.
Dog,
the walking carpet
that tracks in leaves, sticks and mud,
leaving a trail of bread crumbs
for me to follow.
The walking sink
that would clean my face, my hands, my feet,
my heart,
with the cold gentle licks of her tongue.
Intent on making the day more comfortable,
pillow, headrest,
friend.
You, who I would talk to when
nobody was around; You
who was a speechless confidant, whose
silence was most reassuring
when it felt like the world was caving in,
Your fur kept me warm.
Conversing about the future,
jobs and the world, you,
my political canine fence sitter would
never take a side;
I admired that.
You would chase a
ball as I chased
dreams, by my side,
intent on getting scratched
behind the ear,
as all I heard in
the night, was
your howls at the back
gate. We said you
barked at the strangers in the alley,
I thought it was your
desire to see
the sun again.
In the those hours of
light,
you knew that my
love would return;
the jingle of the leash,
the sound of the fridge
door opening,
and your stubby little
tail, wagging.
On the days I had
school, the thief of our
time spent together,
I’d awake to find you on your
bed, watching me
get ready to come home,
preparing yourself for jumping
on top of me.
You frightened me for
years and years,
as when night fell, you
would leave to make your
noise at the moon;
I could not sleep until
I heard you come back inside
safe.
When you got lost,
chasing a
rabbit and the first
thing that found
you was a
car,
I could not sleep.
Through medicines,
stitches,
shaved legs and
cones, you
stayed by my side.
I remember the
grey,
soft,
aged hair begin to grow
under your feet and on
your face;
you were always my puppy.
Dog, you were stronger than
I, as no tears
were shed by you,
on the day you were first
ill with cancer.
I watched you slow;
runs were now walks, and
your naps were
long and many.
I stayed by your
side as you stopped
eating.
No
meat, no cheese,
not even the yogurt
you seemed to love.
The only thing I could feed
you was my time, to sate
your suffering.
Suffering.
I’m sorry I was not
there when you were taken,
without my knowing.
To hold your paw as
you grew sleepy, one last
time, I would give
anything.
Dog, you’ve left me now,
and I hope somewhere
you are still getting those
scratches behind your ears;
your bed is still here,
as if I expect to see you there
one morning.
At night I still
wait to hear your return,
though your door has been
sealed off.
I still open it sometimes.
