Poetry for Max

A friend wrote this poem about Max after he died. I was grateful. However, I am not nearly as erudite as she makes me out to be.

Imprinting

Cool evenings, the Black Dog heard her read.
He lay at her feet curved like a scythe
a satin shadow-carpet. For him, here
was the crown of the day: he and she absorbed
in her speaking - Milton, Jonson, Poe, Donne,
Ferlinghetti and Dickinson.
His brandy eyes sealed to her face.

For a time, the random paw pat on her foot
was simply restlessness. Then her sensitivity
woke to his unvoiced opinion. But this
was personification, to give a dog opinion.
She smiled at the folly.
In a murmur one night, she said,
"What shall we have?" and from the floor
a rasp-bass replied "Donne"

Elizabeth Pharris

In Memory of Max

Willows never forget how it feels to be young.
Do you remember where you came from?
Gravel remembers.
Even the upper end of the river believes in the ocean.
Exactly at midnight, yesterday sighs away.
What I believe is, all animals have one soul.
Over the people they love, they crisscross forever.
William Stafford

Meet "Lili"

This is Lili. She is the ruler of the house and all things 'Lili' - in other words, all things. Lili is 9 years old and just came successfully through radiation treatment for cancer on her leg. Consequently, she now has a weird, naked, spotty leg, which has given rise to an entirely new rash of nicknames. She is a self actualized labrador however, and her self esteem is unaffected.

Lili misses her old friend Max who crossed the rainbow bridge in April 2005 - well, actually she misses eating his poop (but that's another story)