Talking to Grief

/, Blesok no. 45/Talking to Grief

Talking to Grief

Talking to Grief
September 1961
In Mind

Ah, Grief, I should not treat you
like a homeless dog
who comes to the back door
for a crust, for a meatless bone.
I should trust you.

I should coax you
into the house and give you
your own corner,
a worn mat to lie on,
your own water dish.

You think I don’t know you’ve been living
under my porch.
You long for your real place to be readied
before winter comes. You need
your name,
your collar and tag. You need
the right to warn off intruders,
to consider
my house your own
and me your person
and yourself
my own dog.

AuthorDenise Levertov
2018-08-21T17:23:17+00:00 November 1st, 2005|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 45|0 Comments