« Anti-Boil-Over Pot Lid — "Put an end to messy stovetop cleanups" | Home | Portable Human Kickstand »

August 9, 2013

White Dog — by Carl Phillips (Blast from the past*)

 

 

First snow—I release her into it—
I know, released, she won't come back.
This is different from letting what,

already, we count as lost go. It is nothing
like that. Also, it is not like wanting to learn what
losing a thing we love feels like. Oh yes:

I love her.
Released, she seems for a moment as if
some part of me that, almost,

I wouldn't mind 
understanding better, is that
not love? She seems a part of me,

and then she seems entirely like what she is:
a white dog,
less white suddenly, against the snow,

who won't come back. I know that; and, knowing it,
I release her. It's as if I release her
because I know.

Whitespace20hx119_19

 

 

 

 

*Originally featured on April 11, 2006

August 9, 2013 at 08:01 PM | Permalink


TrackBack

TrackBack URL for this entry:
https://www.typepad.com/services/trackback/6a00d8341c5dea53ef0192ac70b582970d

Listed below are links to weblogs that reference White Dog — by Carl Phillips (Blast from the past*):

Comments

The comments to this entry are closed.