Good Enough
By D M Gordon
He was, as advertised, a good horse. We became like an old married couple— fat and sheeny at thirty, he could still buck me off. A vet said cancer, in November, before frozen ground and icy buckets, before a long night’s thrashing against barn boards when no help would come before dawn. He grazed the last sweet threads of pasture in a halter with his name in polished brass. Someone he didn’t know stroked his neck. Someone who knew what was coming inserted a needle. His legs folded, a wisp of grass between his lips. He was a good horse. It was the death he deserved. It is the death I deserve. I am telling anyone who will listen. I too have been good.
D M Gordon is an editor, poet, and novelist. Her prize-winning stories and poems have been published widely. The poetry collection, Nightly, At the Institute of the Possible, was a finalist for the Massachusetts Book Award. She is a Massachusetts Cultural Council Fellow in fiction and two-time finalist in poetry. Upcoming publications include Loosestrife for Porcupines (Blue Light Press), and Gabriel (Sibylline Press), a novel about a lost boy among Salish Sea islands. See dmgordon.com.
01/08 / Poetry Reading and Conversation with visiting poet-in-residence Rita Mookerjee & local poet Madison Miller / The BBar at The Betsy-South Beach, Miami Beach, FL / Live and Live-Streamed on Instagram Live/Facebook Live at @swwimmiami / 7-8:30 pm EST / Free
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Coincidentally, I read this poem after I had written a note to a dog breeder to tell her some of my priorities. I also wrote about my two senior dogs; both had passed 2 years ago, within a few months of each other. When the first dog passed while en route to the hospital, the other dog didn't know she had passed. Shadow continued to sniff the air for Bella; and doing other behaviors demonstrating confusion; grief. 3 months later, Shadow passed. Though I'm no longer sniffing couch cushions and blankets for their scent, I still have their dog collars hanging from the rear-view of my car. A scent, previously considered as a repugnant, dirty-dog-in-need-of-a-bath smell; but after their passing, I was grateful for that pungency. Anyways, a beautiful coincidence to read your poem. So, lovely.
Having lost my last two horses within a year of each other, this poem goes deep.