It’s too early in the season for the pumpkin
to come off the vine–
off the vein–
off the pulse of life,
but it had to happen.
Straight down and round,
heels balancing, orange-whisped tail
centered.
Pumpkin butt.
Cali had been loaded one last time into
the horse trailer so it would be easier
to haul her to the dump.
They would dig a hole,
and bury her.
I cut through the Dreamsicle-colored and stilled swish,
a tail souvenir,
but only after helping to ease her onto her side.
She offered no resistance.
The vet wrapped the strands of hair
together with white medical tape.
A coda.
Tonight
another sweetly glowing sunset
will melt.
We sweat and yearn for rain.
Play Ride Write 
The turning of the seasons, sometimes we feel hope, other times loss. How strange that grief can unite us all at a time when we feel so totally alone. One of my favorite quotes is from Ovid: “Everything changes. Nothing is lost.” Thank you for giving voice to it, Linda.
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I love that quote, Susan.
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That bittersweet moment… Thanks.
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You support our courage to talking about it. Thank you.
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TO TALK! Obviously, I haven’t figured out how to edit my own comments yet!
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