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spysgrandson
Poems
Mar 2018
in his back yard
the third day of spring, pear blossoms fall like snowflakes
then disappear in the new grass
this blanket coming green after a russet winter
during which the old man took shovel to earth
to bury her last Retriever
the runt of the litter, yet it grew strong
and outlived her by only a fortnight, after sniffing her dormant beds, lying at the foot of her lawn chair
as if the canine divined where he last saw her:
lounging in the yard, reading Dickinson under early March light,
sipping a mint tea, scratching the pet's ears;
she passed there, under the same trees, winter's survivors
not yet in bloom
though full of budding promise, unrealized, unseen, but there even as they lay her in the ground
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spysgrandson
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