In My Good Death
-Dalia Shevin
I will find myself waist deep in high summer
grass.
The humming shock of the golden light.
And I will hear them before I see them and know
right away who is bounding across the field to meet me.
All my good dogs will come then, their wet noses
bumping against my palms, their hot panting,
their rough faithful
tongues.
Their eyes young and shiny again.
The wiry scruff of their fur, the unspeakable
softness of their bellies, their velvet ears against my cheeks.
I will bend to them, my face covered with
their kisses, my hands full of them.
In the grass I will let them knock
me down.
