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Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

All Beings Considered

I Long For Stars

The Best Revenge (For All Your Critic's Critiques)

Your Next New Dying Black Swan

The Dreaming Life ( A Series Of Dream Vignettes)

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

All Too Clearly Now

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

Informed Through Pain

Sometimes In Losing I Have Gained A Lot

A Man Of The Clouds

The Birds Are Such Un-numbering Creatures of Distant Hitchcockian Past



Didn't You Learn That First Lesson In Kindergarten?

They Grew (A Poem From The Imaginarium)

Cuba Libre


Max on the max

The Little Bird Said

The Factory of Resentments

When My Blues Are Gone

Expect Yourself



Silver-Tongued Devil

Within The Green Wind Becomes The Fall

Think On This--IF YOU WOULD

Open Lines

You Got Your Lilly Back

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Not A Good-bye Day (For Our Ghuey)

saved His fur
three small packets of Him
currying it off the carpet
grey-black wisps of smoke

His was the world
and everything in it
and everyone who saw Him
fell in love

whenever I was ill or sad
He was my sentry
kneading near my feet
or tucked within an arm
under the blankets
while I whispered praise and secrets
into His pricked ears

so glad I am
I'd tell Him,
He was my dear friend
and how His friendship
meant more than words could
ever describe
His golden owl-eyes would stare back
into me
and then He'd lick with that rough tongue
and I would release Him into the night

if you love someone
you have to let them go
maybe that was what
the lesson was
He was trying to teach me

He was independent
several times He was lost
or became gravely ill
but somehow
He always returned to us
fought His way back

when He became too sick
it had been too late
I had been too preoccupied
and realized His condition
was grave
after any good could come of it

that last day
we held Him
taking turns
regaling Him with stories
of His adventures
and the day we brought Him home
to be loved
the stories of us

this time He did not move
listened patiently
until she came
His heartbeat fluttered
at the presence of a stranger
He sensed our change in mood

there will be two shots
she said
and this is how it will work
how I disliked her in that moment
her intrusion into our last private moments
was sterile and emotionless

He struggled to use his box then
at that very last moment
dragging himself
His paws nearly useless
and she helped him in
there was no vomiting this time
the medicine having finally worked
He wanted us to know
He was our fastidious boy until the end

how cruel to have this happen now
after His Herculean effort
to show me, us
how He could do better
do His best to be alright now

with the first shot
He was snoring sonorously
His breathing regular not ragged
for the first time in such a long time
I held HIM tightly  
covering Him in kisses and love-whispers
thinking He can still hear me

and then B took Him in his arms
with Him still snoring undisturbed
and I knew it was too early
for me to let go
but it would always be

with the second shot
we lost forever

watching Him go limp
with the light going out of His eyes
His light going out of our lives
we sobbed

(the hardest was
relinquishing His body
in His blanket in the back of
her this day I don't
know what words she mumbled towards us.)

Legal Copyright January 20 2017
for this write/poem/work for Our Boy Ghuey
for this legally copyright site title:
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World
by this Author/Momma to The Boy
Melissa A Howells
and Pappa B.
Time stamped 12:47pm PST

this may be imperfect
but working through death
and grief never is perfect,
but a long, sometimes
life-long process

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