Mother’s Day
The dog is my shadow and I fear his loss. My loss.
I cook for him daily, in hope of retaining him.
Each regret is a thread woven around the oak’s branches.
Each day lived is one less to live.
Soon the rabbits will be safe, and the squirrels.
As if they were not. One morning
I’ll greet an empty space and walk alone,
toss the ball into the yard, where it will remain.
It is Mother’s Day.
Why did I not weep at my mother’s grave?
I unravel the threads and place them around the dog.
The wind carries them aloft.
“Mother’s Day” was published in The Lake in July 2016, and last appeared here in May 2018.
O at the Edges 
This has such a somber tone to it, but one of relief too, Robert. Peace to you for sharing this.
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Thank you for reading, Tre.
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You’re quite welcome.
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A beautiful poem and read. Thank you Robert.
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Thank you, Holly.
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My pleasure!
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Very tender. Nicely spoken!
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Thanks, Jazz!
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So much emotion packed into this little poem.
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Mothers and dogs!
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They’ll do it every time.
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So true!
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I was heavy yesterday for a loss that was not my mother, but here she is heavy in my mind today. The emotions are woven and tangled. Every word here is true. (K)
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The emotions are indeed woven and tangled, but I suppose that is the way of emotion.
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Powerful words!
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Thank you very much.
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