Sheila Nickerson
After Euthanasia: Kern National Wildlife Refuge
At the vet’s, they call it
“the time to say goodbye,”
which sounds so much better
than “putting to sleep”
or “putting down,” when
what they really mean
is “stopping the heart.”
Holding you, I felt yours stop,
strong and even to the last beat.
Afterwards, Copper, we took
the Pacific Flyway south,
following the snow geese
all the way to Lost Hills
but did not find you. Instead,
there in the wildlife refuge,
a barn owl with its pale
heart-shaped face rose
from a tree in front of us,
circling in hunt, and a coyote
jumped from a ditch beside us.
Can anyone explain this―
an owl in sunlight,
a sudden coyote,
a heart I caused to stop?
Sheila Nickerson, Bellingham, Washington, is a former Poet Laureate of Alaska. Her poems have appeared in the Inaugural Edition and the November 2012 Edition of THRUSH. Her nonfiction study of sledge dogs in the 19th century Arctic is due out from the University of Alaska Press next year.
Return to September 2013 Edition
At the vet’s, they call it
“the time to say goodbye,”
which sounds so much better
than “putting to sleep”
or “putting down,” when
what they really mean
is “stopping the heart.”
Holding you, I felt yours stop,
strong and even to the last beat.
Afterwards, Copper, we took
the Pacific Flyway south,
following the snow geese
all the way to Lost Hills
but did not find you. Instead,
there in the wildlife refuge,
a barn owl with its pale
heart-shaped face rose
from a tree in front of us,
circling in hunt, and a coyote
jumped from a ditch beside us.
Can anyone explain this―
an owl in sunlight,
a sudden coyote,
a heart I caused to stop?
Sheila Nickerson, Bellingham, Washington, is a former Poet Laureate of Alaska. Her poems have appeared in the Inaugural Edition and the November 2012 Edition of THRUSH. Her nonfiction study of sledge dogs in the 19th century Arctic is due out from the University of Alaska Press next year.
Return to September 2013 Edition