Black Dog

A poem a day until the siege of Gaza is lifted

Sometimes
the past snarls,
like a black dog
in the dark
that will not let me pass.

‘What if?’
growls the beast.
The road could well have turned
so much farther
south.

First I shudder,
then I soothe.
He is afraid,
not mad.
He needs to know
I remember.

As if I could forget.

And to my tender touch,
the past turns from angry dog
into a flower,
dancing like
a Degas ballerina.

‘Look at me’
says she,
look what love
has done.
Tears are also rain,
you know.

Watch me
kiss the sky.

MCO 2025