Heartbreak is a Metaphor, My Daddy Said. . .
My neighbor had a dog I loved:
a Rottweiler-Mastiff mix
and he and I played every day
until – well, you know
they do get sick –
and one day, hard to find his way
displeasure of dysplesia
he could not fetch a stick
and while he lay upon his bed
eyes closed, or half-way – still –
they took him – where? I cannot say –
I knew that he was dead.
The heartbreak that I thought felt
my Dad explained away:
that heartache is a metaphor.
That's what my daddy said.
Another neighbor's puppy, too,
had all my youthful love –
this one of bulldog-pit bull fame,
but sweet and gentle, like a lamb –
not like his fearsome name.
They bred him as a 'people' friend
and Bailey liked that chore
so easy for a dog to do:
just run and play, not wander far,
and guard the house for them
who feed and groom. . . until a car
slammed into him, by accident
and left poor Bailey dead.
My Daddy told me what it meant;
the heartbreak is a metaphor
that lingers in my head.
Then, Goldy was my friend for years,
in fish bowl, all too small,
where lived he gasping to survive
through Summer's heat and dying Fall,
through dead of Winter, Spring, at five
he lost his fins, his breath, his all.
And Hermie, little crab with shell,
a hermit bought at shopping mall,
my birthday gift when I was nine,
was constant as crustacean friend
lived harrowed life in plastic cage
and bounced from rocks no chance to mend
his broken legs and shattered claws.
He limped about till I was ten,
but no matter how I tried
his limbless body hollow died
and Daddy knew the cause.
"This, too, a metaphor. . . " I said.
My Daddy nodded, ". . . inside your head!"
And now, my heart feels deeper pain
much more than times before
because I do not know again
how feels one I adore.
My Daddy said, "For goodness sake,
you're ten, not twenty-four!"
But, then he listened, every word,
about what made me sad
not that I am in puppy love;
he said it wasn't bad.
He told me all the things he saw
that made me feel so grim.
It's just you are in love with love
and not in love with "him."
I listened with still lingering doubt
because I am so young;
But Daddy figured it all out
from times he had been stung.
He told me tales when he was eight
his first love only five
he promised he would not forget
so long as he's alive;
and later, when he was stood up
because he was too poor
to give his sweetheart all he had,
and why? He wasn't sure.
He told me just to be myself
and love would find its way
and I continue being me
no matter what they say
who think I should be more aware
of what my friends contrive..
"Sweet daughter, mine, you know I care
and know while you're alive,
I'll stand beside you now and then
however old you get;
remember, now you're only ten.
True love you haven't met. . .
I stopped him ere he went beyond
where he had gone before.
I said, "I know, sweet Daddy, dear;
my life's a metaphor."
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 890 times
Written on 2007-05-03 at 00:16
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ngaio Beck |
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M Heathcote |
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Janine>K |
