an emotional rescue . . . for national dog day
A dog can never tell you what she knows from the smells of the world, but you know, watching her, that you …
A dog can never tell you what she knows from the smells of the world, but you know, watching her, that you …
It is Mother’s Day in Ireland. I am hoping the flowers arrived and that the florist remembered to write on the card, “I’ll see you next weekend.” It’s been a long three years, the pandemic and its attendant restrictions keeping us apart. As my brother – only 250 odd miles away from her – reminded me, “this thing has made a mockery of distance. I’m only a few hours drive away but I might as well be on the moon.”
Ukrainian-American poet, Ilya Kaminsky, writes in the New York Times, of his desperation to find ways out of Ukraine for his friends – writers, poets, and translators. Many of them do not want to leave their homes, even as Russia continues to bombard their cities:
I ask how I can help. Finally, an older friend, a lifelong journalist, writes back: “Putins come and go. If you want to help, send us some poems and essays. We are putting together a literary magazine.”
In the middle of war, he is asking for poems.
Sometimes in the early hours of the morning, when I am contemplating all that has happened in recent years, I find myself wanting to be reassured that as his fragile heart stopped working, Ken’s last interaction on this earth was tender, with three pounds of unconditional love curled up like a comma on his chest.