Poetry

I got a gift subscription to The Sun last Christmas and it's one of the nicest presents I've gotten in a long while as the interviews always make me think, the short stories are really good, and the poetry strikes a chord. Here's a poem from the October issue.

In My Good Death by Dalia Shevin

I will find myself waist deep in high summer grass. The humming
shock of the golden light. And I will hear them before I see
them and know right away who is bounding across the field to meet
me. All my good dogs will come then, their wet noses
bumping against my palms, their hot panting, their rough faithfull
tongues. Their eyes young and shiny again. The wiry scruff of
their fur, the unspeakable softness of their bellies, their velvet ears
against my cheeks. I will bend to them, my face covered with
their kisses, my hands full of them. In the grass I will let them knock
me down.

(For David Shevin, in loving memory)