Still Life-prints

Still Life-prints

poem by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

Turning away from people and pets in the dual waiting rooms,

angling aside from the U-shaped counter opposite

from where my Leader Dog Willow and I stood,

the young man concentrated on camouflaging grieving tears.

“Do you want a paw print?”

the receptionist routinely asked the twenty-something

once-upon-a-recent-time pet owner.

Across the large reception area,

there was no room,

no easy opportunity

to say:

“I’m sorry for your loss.  Take care.

The paw print will help.”

Why do we want or need

paw prints at times of loss,

baby footprints

at times of birth,

handprints at times of wet cement?

Fortunately, no one will find comfort

from my big foot print.

(From the size of my feet,

I know I should have been taller.)

I also know I should have offered sympathy

to the sad young man,

so he and his loved pet are still in my thoughts.

All I can offer now

and at the time of my passing

are not my footprints,

but still poem-prints

to give comfort

to the known and unknown.

* * *

NOTE:  This posting is a day later than usual because I finally completed my move across the courtyard shortly before five o’clock this evening.  With Leader Dog Willow at my side, I certainly hope to be settled here for a number of years–settled so that I can return to writing more.  Lying on a soft bed beside my computer desk, Willow is quite happy also and is lightly snoring as I write.

Best wishes for a happy and healthy October!

Alice and Leader Dog Willow

October 7, 2021, Thursday

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