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31 Jul: "Before She Died" by Karen Chase


When I look at the sky now, I look at it for you. As if with enough attention, I could take it in for you. With all the leaves gone almost from the trees, I did not walk briskly through the field. Late today with my dog Wool, I lay down in the upper field, he panting and aged, me looking at the blue. Leaning on him, I wondered how finite these lustered days seem to you, A stand of hemlock across the lake catches my eye. It will take a long time to know how it is for you. Like a dog's lifetime -- long -- multiplied by sevens.

1 comment:

  1. The second stanza is strong. "All the leaves gone almost," like she is mentally gone, but still physically here.

    I can't quite tell who she is to the narrator, or how the dog plays into it all.

    "It will take a long time to know how it is for you." Or, maybe, the narrator will never learn/know. How can he/she be so sure? Aging makes me think about the future. When aging may just be a disease that can be cured. How will that change death and finite days?

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