Today's poem is by Stacy Gnall

Self-Portrait as Dewclaw
       

I have lived
like apology

like elegy

like the claw
that leaves no mark
when it moves
but just barely
brushes the dew.

I have gone
a locket

hollow

unwanting
for want of you.

I have been
that old bone
that's forgotten
its calling

although
there is no quit in it—

a constant reminder
curved resting
and restless

a pent-up relic

sole survivor
of an hour
when my blood ran
less humble

and there was red
in my run

and I just knew

to live like symphony
instead of sympathy

and, like the dog, always
in the song's
final movement—

its orchestra swell
in her bones.

Her heart so high
it must be
noon.

Her feet so light
they leave

no mark
when they move, but
just barely brush
the dew.

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Copyright © 2022 Stacy Gnall All rights reserved
from Dogged
University of Massachusetts Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission