I took my god for a walk one August afternoon
not knowing it would be our last,
ignorant she would leave so soon
she walked beside me on that day
(an odd thing for my god to do)
little troubled, seemingly
by the cancer creeping in her womb
I would say she left before her time, but then who would I be?
loyalty can’t be measured in years,
though I wish she’d disagree
so don’t take me back
to a sterile room
where my god breathed her last
don’t take me out back
to the tiniest mound
where once my god made me laugh
“It’s only the death of a god,”
you say,
and maybe you have a point
but I miss the never-ending wag
of her brown dog tail, despite.