We lost her in late spring a few weeks
after my daughter was born, so busy with
the newness of parenthood, too caught up in
jaundice, diapers and feeding schedules that
we barely noticed her fading in our backyard, fur
grown coarse and shaggy, eyes sunken as her
days ran out, just as our child’s were beginning.
On the last day, she didn’t want to go, lingering
by my chair as I held the baby, shaking her collar
for a final time as she trotted out the door. That night
I heard her tags jingle in the empty space and knew.
Come fall I planted bulbs on top the grave by her
vacant doghouse, big and showy daffodils next
to the leather collar and tags, her favorite toys, all
trumpeting a dog’s loyalty within the king’s burial mound.
I’m writing a poem every day in April as part of NaPoWriMo’s celebration of National Poetry Month. Won’t you join me in poetry?