Saturday, August 31, 2013


After reaching the limits of prose recently, I was moved to try poetry again. Here, work in progress, part of grief work in progress:


Our dog set free
on a beach
for the first time
stares at us in disbelief,
then romps
along the scalloped foam,
dashes full speed
toward the silhouette
of a dog unshackled
in the distance,
doubling back to galumph
over breakers and chase
rafts of pelicans,
hundreds of them,
floating, flying,
nose-diving down to a prize
the dog cannot see
or reach.

Our young son, gone
these five months,
would have
should have
raced him, shouting,
into the surf.

For a few minutes
as we revel
in the dog on the beach,
we forget.


  1. This poem reminds me of two images, one was a photo I took of V. at the age of 4, it's taken from behind him so I see what he sees, the vastness of the sand and ocean, and from the hunch of his shoulders I sense his wonder.

    The other image is of V. and N. walking together along the coast. It was taken last summer, and somebody who was with them took if a distance from behind them, undisturbed in their deep discussion. I love to look at this image because it shows the closeness they shared that they could get lost in a conversation even when others were around.

    Your poem adds to this image, and I wonder if while V. and N. were walking did they see strangers with their dog or child, and experience the same moment of wonder, even if just for an instant.