a blessing for wolfenoot

& a secret poem

photo by Marek Szturc

Happy Wolfenoot, dear ones. In honor of this perfect holiday, I wanted to share a secret (i.e., unpublished) dog poem I wrote on another important day a few years back.

Note: I recommend reading this on a computer instead of a phone. The Substack mobile view has no regard whatsoever for my precious line breaks.

---

I Ask Mary How I Should Live My Life
for and after Mary Oliver (1935–2019)
and Percy 

I’m stepping into a snow-wet elevator when the news
of her death comes. My reflection slumps 
in salt-stained boots and an old coat 
that’s missing its pockets. So much
for pulling myself together this year.

All afternoon my inbox brims,
friends sending condolences 
as though the patron saint of little things
had had anything to do with me. But they understand.
It felt like she did.

She truly lived, I type. 
We shouldn’t feel grief. 

That night when my date opens his door
a furry blur rushes to meet me. I kneel to untie my boots
and the little white dog flings himself into my body,
nipping gaily at the snowflakes melting in my hair.

My date is embarrassed. Sorry. Sorry! Snowball! Sit. 
The joyful tail-metronome slows. The little dog sits.
Then his dark eyes find me, hopeful, uncertain, 

and just like that, I’m grieving.

It’s all right, I tell the soft animal
springing up now to lick at my tears. Beloved, it’s all right.
You do not have to be good.

---

with my teachers Snowball (L) and Cujo (R)

A Blessing

May your pack be safe.
May your howls be cleansing.
May your treats be sweet.

---

Thanks to Conny for planting this idea in my head.