I sometimes sat and wondered who
A poem of loss

I sometimes sat and wondered who would be the first to go— to leave our sixteen legged pack, prints missing in the snow.
I’d watch you then, for signs of what one day was sure to come, and tell myself she looks okay: bright eyes, soft coat, pink gums.
Today won’t be the day I fear, this week won’t be the week. “We won’t go on without our Moose,” I’d say, and kiss your cheek.
You’d look me in the eye just so, as if you knew my fear, as if to say “I’m fine today— your healthy Baby Deer.”
I rather chose to say “Yes, love, I second what you said— we all are here, today, sweet Goose, shared pathway left to tread.
And though the road, I know, will fork, it hasn’t done so yet; we’re here, just now, in this: today— tomorrow is no threat.”
The future is, I now know well, a gift for those who rise, and face the fact that life is brief— especially with ties
to other creatures, small and large, who nat’rally do speak: in bark and mew and cheep and bray, and hoot and purr and squeak.
They thusly tell us not to dwell— but rather to embrace— all of the things, including grief, we’re blessed with in this place.
So thank you, Moose Goose Baby Deer, you eased my human woe, you offered wisdom that I lacked, and then I let you go.
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