Narrow Flame
Sun at the zenith. Greening
earth.
Slight buckling of the left
hind leg. And all this while
the girl
at his ear good boy and now
the hip giving way and mildly as
was ever
his wont the lovely
heft of him lists toward the field
that minutes
ago was still so sweet for
grazing and good boy and on the
ground
now where the frightening
last shudder of lungs that we’ve been
warned about
does thank you darling does
not come and feeling for a pulse
no pulse
and warning us touching
the liquid eye which does not
close which
means the slender needle with
its toxic everlastingness has done
its job
good boy unbuckling the
halter lifting the beautiful head
to her
lap and all this while the girl
Credit
Copyright © 2017 by Linda Gregerson. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on October 9, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.
About this Poem
“Last summer, we had to say goodbye to the beloved horse who had been part of our family for sixteen years. It was Donovan who taught my daughters to ride.”
—Linda Gregerson
Author
Linda Gregerson
Linda Gregerson’s book Waterborne won the Kingsley Tufts Poetry Prize, and her book The Woman Who Died in Her Sleep was a finalist for the Lenore Marshall Poetry Prize. She currently serves as a Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets.
Date Published
10/09/2017