There are no goodbyes

From Johns Vanness’ Caddo Lake and Big Thicket Series
Soon my back yard will be bare of the old boy.

Vet says he hasn’t got long.

Of course it’s not like we haven’t had good practice at being pulled apart from one another.

The last couple of years have been hell on him and me.

Prior, we’d been mostly in each other’s company for fourteen solid years.

Some say there’s something called an angel bridge that’ll keep the two of us linked no matter what, no matter whether we’re dead or alive.

I believe it. Because even though he’s across the ocean from me, I can feel his presence.

He’s never been far away. He’s always known I’m out there.

And now he’s waiting for me to come back before he goes.

Last goodbyes…

What to make of them?

The world turns. The sun rises like a surface-to-air missile and smashes the horizon in a blast of oranges and reds. Dusk is laid down on the dying day and coolness comes with the moon, that shining beauty, so quiet and peaceful.

I throw open the window, let a sterling ray slice across my skin—I want to be healed, to be bled of bad blood and filled with right knowing and doing—and then it’s gone.

The moon is deceitful. Beauty seems as grace, peacefulness seems as time unrushed. But the moon slashes the sky as quickly as the sun torpedoes it.  Like a classless drunk, it slaps dawn on the ass.

And with the birds’ chirping the pilot lamp is lit, glows blue like cool, like hope over coffee. And soon the rumble as the fire takes hold. Soon the red hot and roaring chaos rips into the sky and heads deadly toward the horizon.

Soon the dusk and the moon and the sun again and soon my back yard will be bare of the old boy’s pottering.

Brambles will creep up the gate and in and grow sharp and poisonous thorns of guilt.

Already the grass is growing tall with torment, and at its roots, ants push up the grains they steal from my hourglass.

Moles make sunward tunnels of sorrow.

Tears of rain furrow around them.


Click here for more on prompt #290 – My Backyard from other Sunday Scribblings participants.


5 Responses to “There are no goodbyes”

  1. October 23, 2011 at 9:13 pm

    What a stunningly beautiful post and tribute to a pet (I guess) that probably appreciated the garden more than you did.

  2. October 23, 2011 at 11:00 pm

    I love the imagery in this piece. Great writing.

  3. 3 Gel
    October 24, 2011 at 2:35 am

    Awesome writing style. Glad i found you through Sun. Scribs.

  4. October 24, 2011 at 4:01 am

    Dear Mz Z..this tore my heart into little diamond threads..thinking of all the ‘old boys’ that are lost.. buried in the ground. .maybe they absorb there..and in the air..and maybe we continue to carry them on our skin and in our minds..beautifully sparse lines..that run so deep..Jae

  5. October 29, 2011 at 9:53 am

    I have been through this gut wrenching experience, too. It’s nice to have the ‘old boy” at rest nearby. I like your rich writing style.

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