Admit Them, Admit Them

Thank you, collective mind. And in this particular case, thank you friend Sally Reed. In response to my posting below entitled Talisman, Sally sent me the following:

This brings to mind another less acute, but still astute, evocation of grief as a dog. It’s by Denise Levertov.

Talking to Grief

Ah, Grief, I should not treat you
like a homeless dog
who comes to the back door
for a crust, for a meatless bone.
I should trust you.

I should coax you
into the house and give you
your own corner,
a worn mat to lie on,
your own water dish.

You think I don’t know you’ve been living
under my porch.
You long for your real place to be readied
before winter comes. You need
your name,
your collar and tag. You need
the right to warn off intruders,
to consider
my house your own
and me your person
and yourself
my own dog.

Your post also reminds me of these lines, or at least of the feeling stirred up by the lines, from DH Lawrence:

What is the knocking?
What is the knocking at the door in the night?
It is somebody wants to do us harm.
No, no, it is the three strange angels.
Admit them, admit them.

2 Replies to “Admit Them, Admit Them”

  1. Oh, this extended metaphor of grief as a homeless dog is powerful. So we should embrace grief as a homeless dog, welcome it in, care for it. Thanks for posting this from your Talisman comments section. The poem there from Fleur Alcock was wrenching. I can understand why you are so grabbed by it and reread it so often. G

  2. G, I’m so glad to hear that it got to you too. It makes me vibrate every time I read it. Thanks for this.

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