The Blue Bowl by Jane Kenyon
The Blue Bowl
Jane KenyonLike primitives we buried the cat
with his bowl. Bare-handed
we scraped sand and gravel
back into the hole.
They fell with a hiss
and thud on his side,
on his long red fur, the white feathers
between his toes, and his
long, not to say aquiline, nose.We stood and brushed each other off.
There are sorrows keener than these.Silent the rest of the day, we worked,
ate, stared, and slept. It stormed
all night; now it clears, and a robin
burbles from a dripping bush
like the neighbor who means well
but always says the wrong thing.
MARGINALIA
Thinking about my pets. What would it feel like to be an animal, with a person whom you would give your life to protect and love?
ABOUT JANE KENYON
Jane Kenyon was born in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and earned both her BA and MA from the University of Michigan. Kenyon published four volumes of poetry during her life: From Room to Room (1978), The Boat of Quiet Hours (1986), Let Evening Come (1990), and Constance (1993), and, as translator, Twenty Poems of Anna Akmatova (1985). (Source)
Read more poems by Jane Kenyon • Find books by this poet on Amazon • Bookshop • Or view my library
ENDNOTES
- Explore other works in pursuit of: grief • pets • death • Or browse the index
- If this work resonates with you, please consider supporting the archive. Thank you for reading.
