is this what they call a tragedy?
at tragedy meant
“the singing of the goat”
and we laughed?
how ridiculous it seemed.
how totally unrelatable.
but have you ever heard
a mother goat bleating
for her lost kids?
I have.
and these children
were not being led to the slaughter
on the altar of a false god
for a pagan feast or festival,
but she didn’t know that.
she only knew
that all at once
they were gone.
I reached for her golden ears
when she paced by me, frantic.
I tried to soothe away the fear.
I tried to tell her of the meadow
where they’d gone to run,
and the horses with whom
they’d learn to play.
but she didn’t understand.
couldn’t understand.
couldn’t believe me
even if she did.
instead, she just stood
at the locked gate and stared,
looking at the place she’d seen them last
and bleating out her sorrow.
We suffered a tragic loss in our extended family just before thanksgiving this past year, and as soon as I wrote the words I knew this poem needed to be a last minute addition to my book as the Sparrow flies. Click here to get your copy of my love/loss poetry book today.