On the Trail
at 6 a.m. a voice shrill calling, Noah, Noah,
my heart stops. I’m inside writing
about lyric poetry
and how loss can be overpowered,
taken, like an enemy or dark angel
knocking at your door
at midnight.
My neighbor, friend, nurse in her former life
walks the trail behind our house with Grace,
her dog, calling, calling for her new cat, Noah.
In the fading light of a full moon night
I realize a stony truth of her naming him.
She’s thin as the stalks
that climb their way to heaven
by the trail, the ones we call weeds.
Where is her ark?
The neighborhood association has rules, you know
about noise before 9:00
about disturbing the peace.
But no rule can bind this woman,
her dog and cat, the three
who’ve walked
beyond her radiation for a tumor
in a lung and another
in the brain the brain the brain
times three no rule for this woman
who keeps walking tall
like a reed, stretching
to the light of another dawn.
This is powerful without being pushy.
Wonderful conclusion to this poem, Shelda! A story in strength well told.
Powerful description of a moment and your thoughts in that moment.
The symbolic, or metaphoric if you wish, presence of these animals in this woman’s life are so vivid in this poem. The cat, a stalk to heaven, and arc in the endless rain, the dog a solid grounding of unquestionable devotion. Very nice Shelda. I will be on the look-out for this one in print.
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