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4 (poem) - Heather Phillipson - United Kingdom - Poetry International
 
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4
I am so indifferent
to the limits
of feelings
I can’t tell the difference
every time someone lifts my flap
the unwashed salad
the unheated leftovers
the sanitary products are standard but bear no relation
to what I expected
to feel overlaid
with various forms of filth
don’t you sometimes feel
like getting wrapped in a dog towel
and buried in the hardening ground
under the Canadian maple? Do dogs
need to approach death
and back away from it
like I did when the vet injected
deep pentobarbital & his bowels ejected across the floor tiles
I was there
to inhale his fur and weep
for my benefit
I am not independent
of my feelings this way
of talking about feelings
has fooled each one of us
   I’d rather be given CBT
   by a border collie
   when there are fewer words around
my arms around
his only
adored and stinking
neck
dead
up my nostrils
  throw me in there with him everything
       is in the cold
     awful and I’m not OK
     and without good reason
     still here and
 
  
     feelings