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Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Poetry Party Wednesday


The Blue Bowl

Jane Kenyon

Like primitives we buried the cat
with his bowl. Bare-handed
we scraped sand and gravel
back into the hole.
                               They fell with a hiss
and thud on his side,
on his long red fur, the white feathers
between his toes, and his
long, not to say aquiline, nose.
We stood and brushed each other off.
There are sorrows keener than these.
Silent the rest of the day, we worked,
ate, stared, and slept. It stormed
all night; now it clears, and a robin
burbles from a dripping bush
like the neighbor who means well
but always says the wrong thing.

3 comments:

Monica said...

very interesting.

thepinkrachael said...

I like the end of this better than the rest of the poem, but tht part I like. It also reminded me that I saw the first robin I've seen since moving here (18 months ago) on my way to work today!

Holli said...

this was a hard one for me.....