Ruff Month

It’s been a rough month

Our resident wolf,
ambassador of love,
felled by his own heart,
laid his life down
at the feet of Kwan Yin

My mother died…
almost…
again
center stage
more than the girl in her
ever dreamed

My daughter
draggled home
her heart in her knapsack
in two or three pieces
"Mommy!" she says

I have a cancer
intending on ending
me
but for
an educated knife

Every hour repeats,
our beloved dog died,
left us bereft
of wildness,
bewildered by the quiet
of a hollow house

There is no tendon in the heart,
nothing to tweak history
into poetic justice;
no connective tissue
bending love into longevity;
and no good dog goes to heaven

(this is his last lecture)
You are who you are;
a bone is a bone;
a heart is a heart.
Farewell, fairest moment
I loved you
forever

About Wolffy

Kaimana Wolff, novelist, poet and playwright, survives in a small community on the coast of British Columbia with her friend, a beautiful soul housed in a wolfish body. Often Lord Tyee and Wolff can be heard devising new howls, songs and dances on the lawns, in the parks, and in glens of the great forests still permitted to stand.

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