I wrote a poem today, and it had nothing to do w/ death or dying or grieving. It's a silly poem about walking the dog in the winter. It's not one of my best, but at least my creative side is starting to look toward life and living and finding humor in every day activities. I think that's a positive sign. Right now I'm not sure which I miss more, my mom or laughing. I hope some day soon it doesn't have to be an either or.
WALKING THE DOG ON A WINTER’S DAY
by Mari Miller Burns
Snow pants first, zipped up tight
Boots on left then on right.
Neck gator, cap
Dog’s still taking a nap.
Rouse her to Velcro on her coat
Clip on leash to the collar at her throat.
Time for my coat, scarf to fill the gaps
Gloves on, ready to make some laps.
One step, two step, squat and pee
Three step, four step, that's the dog, not me.
Race back toward the door
No need to do more?
Gloves off first to remove the leash.
Undo the Velcro coat of fleece.
Up the stairs she runs to take a seat
Looking down, waiting for her treat.
Scarf off me and onto the hook
Coat next with hat and gator in the sleeve's crook.
Boots off right then off left, opposite before
Snow pants finally, didn’t I just do this chore?
Dog happy and ready to bark at passers-by
Me exhausted and ready to cry.
Tired of winter’s cold hold of ice and snow galore
That forces this ritual dressing and undressing just to step out the door.
I think it's a very nice poem. I especially liked "Three step, four step, that's the dog, not me."
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