Glory.

Wyeth, The Intruder, 1971

Dog's Deaf Bark

A bit flinty.  Trace of a squeak.

Does she hear her?

 “I only hear my own music,” said Beethoven.

Is it an announcement or warning

from one so small and crippled

in youth by a child

who stomped her spine?

She listens to the glory of her past.

She knows where she is

in our home.  She’s Mary,

the deer chaser, a woman

of power, a lion in her mind,

roaring so weakly into the dark,
trying to make hips follow chest.

Jim Harrison