Heavy with grief, sinking

in this vast ocean of loss,

moments of comfort

buoy me toward the surface

where I emerge for an instant

before plunging back into

the lonely dark depth

where it is too cold

and I am too tired

to do anything

but submit

to the undertow.

 

It’s not the sharp teeth

or strong jaws that will

rip your heart from your chest.

It’s not even the carnivorous

instinct that puts you at risk.

 

It’s the eyes, big and brown,

that speak their own language

and see what you can’t.

It’s the floppy ears

that hear beyond words.

It’s the tail, that needle on

the barometer of joy.

 

It’s the ability to invade

home and heart, expanding

both and filling them wholly.

It’s the love, abundant,

ever-present, even when it’s

unearned, undeserved.

It’s the moments, the memories,

the head on your shoulder,

the adventures, the antics.

 

It’s the concern that sneaks

into your head, the worry

that sickens you with fear.

It’s the hours on the floor,

stroking soft fur, spoon-feeding,

talking tenderly, watching for hope.

It’s heavy decisions, doubting,

wondering, praying, begging.

 

And finally, it’s goodbye,

letting go, and pain, so much pain,

so much grief, so much loss,

that you risk

with a dog.

Beware.

All day, trying to hide

the crusty gash glaring

from its swollen mound

by my purple ringed eye.

 

All day, too conscious

of others’ reactions—

naked stares, sneaky

peeks, eyes looking

anywhere but my face.

 

All day, alone in knowing

the wound came from

an innocent frisbee and not

from the hands of a man

poisoned by fear and anger.

 

All day, wondering where

I would possibly hide

if the assumptions about

my injury were true.

 

All day, aching for the women

whose truth is a humiliation

with so many more layers,

so much more gravity,

than my experience

after a silly accident.

I stop what I’m doing, becoming

completely still for the first time

in days, to envision your thin body

stretched on a steel surgical table,

legs tethered to the corners, belly

pink and freshly shaven poking

out of the hole in the blue drape,

tail, no longer wagging, tucked

out of the way, a web of tubes

and cords connecting you to

machines, masked doctors and techs

performing their ballet of precision

as they dance around each other,

making elegant cuts in your torso.

 

I squeeze my eyes together, focus

on sending across the 327 miles

something that feels at first like

a wish but means so much more.

To the doctors I send steady hands,

sound judgment, and the wisdom

to find answers. To you, my sweet

and silly old boy, to you I send

strength for healing, comfort

in your strange surroundings,

and the biggest love I can fit

into this ethereal envelope,

trusting with everything in me

it will be delivered immediately.

As I marvel

at the slender grace,

the sleek, cool slither,

the wavy lines,

as I wonder

about the workings

of those simple

and intricate bodies,

fear slinks farther

and farther away.

In the macramé coccoon

I absorb quiet,

hide from hectic noise

 

Wind’s motherly hands

rock this cradle

of contentment

 

Nylon web captures

serenity, stillness,

me

 

Body melts into the ropes,

eyes droop, mind empties,

peace beckons

 

Climbing in, I surrender

to rest, to stillness,

leaving behind that tight collar

that shocks me every time

I start to let go.