Poetry

Dog Walk Matins

[media-credit name=”Ken Schwartz” align=”alignright” width=”324″][/media-credit]
With dog and chance I trudge winter matins
in search, and sure, of hearing her council:
such force cannot vanish into ash

or soil. Though we took turns with the shovel,
I set out expectant, lark-a-fledge,
with dog and chance. I trudge winter matins

and take her pace through sleeping village,
sure this way returns me to her love:
such force cannot vanish into ash.

Though I dropped dirt onto her coffin,
her voice sounds in my muscle
when, with dog and chance I trudge winter matins.

And so I find her, as I walk in dark dampness—
as if she too falls from clouds above—
with dog and chance, as I trudge winter matins.
Such force did not vanish into ash.

Pamela Hobart Carter loves Seattle as much for its water and mountains as for its bustle and creativity. She explores the Emerald City daily while walking her dog. Carter used to be a teacher who wrote on the side. Now she is a writer who teaches on the side.