Tag Archives: brother

Phone Call

27 Aug

Only the friend felling alongside
sees, peripherally,
the blur of broken treetop drop down,
like a pendulum, to end a good life.

Please call, is all the message
on my brother’s phone says.  And so
he is the first of our kin to learn
the words “we couldn’t save him.”   

Hyperventilating,
steering spring mud roads to Mom,
he dials to let me know
the man we call our Dad is dead.

States away, in the backyard,
I hear my voice responding
with a buzz of questions.  He says,
better hang up, I need to go in.

I gather wife and children,
crumbling, tell them all he said,
tears slaking dust between the boards
of this worn out kitchen floor.

Only Dog

24 Jun

As kids, we would put our hands inside
her toothy den; for us the molars were mild,
the incisors unwilling even to gentle dent
the soft butter of our skin.
She chewed a couple of neighborhood pets
and Dad had to put her on a run
until we moved outside of town.
There, with our Shepherd’s perked ears
and pointed nose always close by
my brother and I could explore fields
of curious cows, or trod a tangled wood. 
She would bark for joy in the driveway
when visitors arrived who sometimes
waited in their cars until we settled her.

In her waning days, Dad helped her
to get up steps, lifting her from behind. 
The day came he said, She’s in a lot of pain,
and lifted her into the bed of the pickup. 
We drove to town at dusk and dark
had fallen when the vet came out to us.
As if it had all been a dream,
she was gone
and we had started back toward home.       
        From beside him
there on the bench seat of the truck
I glanced up. Dad focused on the road
and cried.  We never had another dog. 
Dad’s words: It’s too hard.