When Sepia Is No More Poem by Nika McGuin
When Sepia Is No More
Every time I step outside
I look back at where he used to be
half-expecting to see a flash of chestnut brown fur,
to hear a low mangled howl,
or the sound of his bony tail
repeatedly banging against the shed's tin wall
I find myself searching for traces of him
but there's nothing left,
just his memory in my mind's eye
like a ghost that haunts my soul
though I'd prefer a more life-like version
As of yet, I haven't been able to face
the grief born of his death
or the weight of his absence-
Bronson's sepia dusk, is suddenly midnight
somber and hush swoop into the scene
but even the vultures hang their heads in mourning
watching it fade, was too hard to bear'
This is a follow-up of the poem/true story: Sepia Dusk of Extinction
Last week Bronson(a canine compadre) was put out of his misery by way of euthanasia. He was in stage four of heart-worm disease and there was nothing more that could be done for him. He was at the point where his bloated belly was the only thing not bony on him(his spine and ribs were visible) and his fur was beginning to fall out in patches. He still had the same sad, beautiful, brown eyes...and he will be sorely missed.
On my goodness! You have managed to take one of the saddest experiences we ever go through, which is losing our precious, beloved pets, and turned it into a most beautiful poem. This poem truly tells how much your Bronson was loved and will be missed. You have an amazing talent with the written word.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 6:42:36 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I have been wondering about Bronson's situation since reading your poem about him. Now I know. And lines from KING LEAR came to me when a faithful follower says of the king's death VEX NOT HIS GHOST. O LET HIM PASS! THE WONDER IS HE HATH ENDURED SO LONG. Shakespeare was writing about a human's death, but that doesn't matter, your words about Bronson's life and abuse touched chords of compassion in me. I'm glad he could die with dignity when living became too painful. Your poem has a fine, formal gravitas to it. It's a true farewell - fare-thee-well.