pets, photography, writing

Kaete Girl Dog

Kaete on guard

my dog – well . . .
our dog, the family dog died.

Kaete (kay-ta) died and was buried
on our property.

We spent last nite with her, petting her,
holding her head, she looked at us and
we talked about her as if she were
already gone – a eulogy in progress.

we told her stories of all the reasons
and ways and times we loved and
appreciated her.

it was a beautiful nite on our deck, she
sat on a blanket and we covered her in
another, so she would be warm, as she
could not move.

but she heard us, and knew us, and watched us
and loved us as we loved her – chasing our cars
and putting the cat’s head in her mouth to lick
and moaning as if to speak and all those you forget
when someone, or some creature is no longer there
to fill the quiet space . . . .

i love you girl dog.

muddy rest

death, family, health, travel

falling stars

my grandmother died.
i am in Detroit trying to soothe my mother
and i am charged with the writing
and delivering of the eulogy.

they wanted me to sing,
but i’m not certain i would perform anything
other than shudders and the choking back of tears.
best that i speak of light things
and celebrate her life.

if any of you have any advice
or well-wishing or thoughts on eulogies
and funerals, please share them with me.

my grandmother was Protestant,
but never really attended church
she believed in a higher power – god per se
but did not want to be buried with a rosary
or delivered into a church before burial,
so i will be speaking of her at a funeral home.
we bury her on Wednesday.
she was 81.

when people lose someone older in their family
sometimes, the thoughts and emotions are disconnected
— they forget that the person was ever young.
my grandmother was a tough woman, sometimes cruel
but it was also in her home i spent the first 9 months of my life
she saw me even before my own father who was at sea
and in her hallway was a long mirror i always loved
and would push myself against to stand.
i left fingerprints there as an infant
and when my mother and i left to our first home
my grandmother refused to wash those prints off the mirror
for nearly a year.
Irene Paull is her name, and she was a good woman
strong with a deep capacity for memory and tenderness.