Grief has dogged me 

For a long time 

From diagnosis to internment 

And on, and on. 

 

At first, grief was a snarling cur, curled lips deep bark, bared teeth, 

Full of warning and pain, 

Then the quick tenacious bite, 

And oozing tears. 

 

Later grief was a neurotic little lap dog nipping at my heels, 

Annoying me 

And wanted attention 

But too fearful to allow itself to be held and petted. 

 

Sometimes came the wolf eyed Guard dog, 

Suspicious and angry 

But practical, working for food and board, but wary. 

I needed to watch my hands. 

 

As I became accustomed, grief became a cute friendly cuddly pup, 

Quick to please, but confused when her bite punctured skin, drew blood, and my curse. 

 

Grief grew with me and now is sometimes like an old and sleepy companion dog, 

Belly up under the table. 

The two of us comfortable in each other presence. 

My sighs and breaths of regret doesn’t alarm the old dog, 

Nor wake her from her nap. 

 

Grief grows on me, I’d rather not have this companion, 

but I’ve gotten used to it. 

 

By: Dennis Gura