Mandy (1970 - 1976) For Venetia Poem by Philippa Lane

What do you say to a child of ten
when she asks
'Will she die? ', 'Will she die? '
and you know
she's seeing that scene
on the road
over and over again,
hearing the hit,
her own terrible scream,
seeing the car speed on
without a care
for her beloved Mandy.

When a ten-year old asks,
'How long have she and I been together? '
you know six years
was long enough
for a precious bond to grow,
you know the fondness grew
as she grew nearer
to her own flowering.

It's no use saying
that time will dry the tears
on her cheeks, though they will,
it's no use reminding her
of the barking
or the fines
the nuisance of scattered hair
the neighbour's angry stares,
or shovelling the dirt -

She loves too simply for that -

The kind of love
that asks to keep her collar
if she dies.

And she did, of course,
later that night,
in a hospital cage,
cold and bare,
with drugs in her veins
to damn the pain
of punctured lungs
her glazed eyes
no longer knowing
none of us were there.

I held my daughter
close to me,
knowing
she must consummate
her love with sobbing
and with tears,

It was her time,
Her definition,
To cry out
her contrition.

When I knew her tail
would never wag again,
we cried together,
fused in a simple grief,

Our minds touching
her thick fur,
seeing her trusting
amber eyes
looking at us.

Yes, I held her close
as she mourned
the death
of her first true love
whose life
so abruptly ended
in a slump
on an empty road.