The spaniels
...another poem from my self-appointed writing residency at Gwithian Beach.
He strains against his lead
looks right at me
and barks an urgent bark.
He is a blue roan just like my boy.
His owner, confused, mouths “sorry”
across the beach.
She doesn’t know what he has to tell me
so urgently, but I do.
Another spaniel makes a beeline for me
or as much of a beeline as a dog
whose tail is wagging his bottom can make.
He crash-lands into my legs,
and, leaning his whole body in,
looks up at me with pure love.
“I know, baby boy, I know,
Tell him I miss him too.”
The tide line
This poem started out as a conversation with my sister about how much I missed my dog Jago, who died almost two years ago. I was telling her that we renamed ‘mackerel skies’ in his honour because there was such a spectacular one the day he died and so whenever I see that particular cloud formation now I like to imagine it’s him saying hi – and about the way that sometimes spaniels make such a beeline for me I’m sure they’re sending me his love via some sort of dog medium system. And, of course, I don’t believe a word of this, but also, I enjoy entertaining these ideas, turning them over in my brain, as if they might contain some grain of truth. What I know for sure is that grief doesn’t move in straight lines and it isn’t reserved for humans. I read about the idea of a ‘self-appointed artist in residence’ on Amy Stewart’s Its Good to Be Here, so thank you to Amy for this idea.
I am a craft, nature and sustainability writer and a certified Blue Health Coach™. To learn more and try a Blue Health Coaching™ tool for yourself, visit makingdesigncircular.org/coaching.