Jane Kenyon

(1947-1995 / United States)

The Blue Bowl - Poem by Jane Kenyon

Like primitives we buried the cat
with his bowl. Bare-handed
we scraped sand and gravel
back into the hole.
They fell with a hiss
and thud on his side,
on his long red fur, the white feathers
between his toes, and his
long, not to say aquiline, nose.

We stood and brushed each other off.
There are sorrows keener than these.

Silent the rest of the day, we worked,
ate, stared, and slept. It stormed
all night; now it clears, and a robin
burbles from a dripping bush
like the neighbor who means well
but always says the wrong thing.


Comments about The Blue Bowl by Jane Kenyon

  • Nigel Norton (12/15/2015 2:52:00 AM)


    Fantastic, but in a nice way as it sounds very real life (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Dawn Fuzan (5/13/2014 5:40:00 PM)


    Jane This is a good poem, keep it up (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »



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Read poems about / on: cat, red, night, sorrow, work, sleep



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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