The first time I saw
my stoic mother
was when our Basset hound,
Hermione, died.
The dog was tri-colored:
milk and dark chocolate,
with splashes of coconut white.
Her ears were chocolate ganache;
crusty at the ends,
where she dragged them
through her food bowl.
She traveled with us
from California to Tanzania
and back.
The night she died,
I layed in my bed
listening to memory’s
soundtrack play back
my mother calling
(out the back door
and up the street);
until stumpy hound legs
brought warm bright eyes

Prompt: Poetic Bloomings memoir project — first exposure to death.


9 thoughts on “Hermione

  1. The overlay of emotion and imagery is excellent. Felt the sadness but not overwhelmingly so. The memory is seen to linger in a peaceful way too. Enjoyed the read, thanks for sharing.

  2. Oh, I hear you with this. I have lived through the deaths of three dogs in my life…..and it is indeed heart-breaking and awful to endure. I think the hardest thing is you cannot TALK with the dogs, you cannot explain, be comforted or give verbal comfort. You can only hold…and hope they understand how much they are loved.

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