Black & light

I dream of
a white dog
running across
spiked with
morning frost

of stroking
the soft white fur
a small dog

when I wake
you are still
little black
& tan dog

I remember cradling
your body
beautiful black fur
not a spot of red
yet inside bleeding
to death

I’ve dreamt
so many replays
times of reaching
you before the car

in the eighth year
the white dog
comes to my dream

but breath
stabs my chest
I see you lying
a statue on
the grass
I called your name
not dead
you could
just raise your head

I held your body
bones, fur
and breath
for your spirit
to stay

maybe that
white dog
is your light?

Waking Muriel Alice

Grandma is being woken
from the dead/ eternal sleep/ after life
a generation since cancer robbed
her brain & body
from herself and us
younger than my mother now
shall we mourn or welcome her return?

This is a rocky horror show
future: we can choose
a skeleton in a wheelchair
or change her back to Muriel Alice
who danced, skied, swam,
sewed ball gowns
made men turn:
athletic Cliff marry her, and
gentle John love her always.

Cliff and John have gone too
some days lament
shakes me from slumber
I rise with the breath
of all love/d.

Kathleen Bleakley