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A Million-Mile Tail

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Carrie Newcomer is a songwriter, recording artist, performer, educator, and activist. She has published three books of poetry and essays, in addition to nineteen music recordings. In September 2021, she released an album with a companion book of poems titled Until Now. Carrie lives in the wooded hills of

South Central Indiana with her husband and two shaggy rescue dogs.

Welcome to the Poets Weave. I’m Romayne Rubinas Dorsey. Carrie, what have you brought for us?

 

Even Then

 

Twilight on the ridge top,

I came upon two lanky coyotes

And one large coy dog.

They all wore thick grey wolf-like coats

And a hungry look.

Lily, my 48-pound herding dog mix,

Sped into the woods barking

Doing what her deep down DNA demanded -

Keep the herd safe,

Whatever it takes.

The three wild canines ran off a little way,

But quickly returned when they realized

The relative size of my small guardian angel.

I saw them begin to circle her as a team.

I heard her yelp high and distressed.

I ran crashing through the brush,

Brambles catching my pant legs and jacket edges,

Whistling long shrill notes between my fingers,

A trick I'd learned when I was eight years old.

(Who knows when we might need a gift from our former self?)

The coyotes looked up,

Surprised.

The largest one met my eyes, assessing me.

Predators don't expect prey to have friends in the world

Who are willing to run headlong into danger,

Sound an alarm,

And shout with righteous anger.

The pack of three looked at one another,

Shrugged and then half loped, half glided

Off into the darkening woods.

Lily was unhurt but concerned and trembling

I held her collar securely

Because she was absolutely ready to go after the pack

If I should only ask.

I ruffled her ears,

Me the small and she the somewhat smaller,

And wondered at the enormous size and courage

Of a small dog's heart

And was grateful to know

That she had me covered.

And that I had her back.

And love does prevail,

Even in the twilight

Even when the coyotes circle.

Yes, even then.

 

 

A Million-Mile Tail

(For the Comet Neowis - discovered on March 27, 2020 - and for all the shining comets as

they sail out of view.)

 

There is a comet that passes this way

Every six thousand years or so,

For the briefest

Handful of days.

This week that comet returned,

Coming into view

After ages of absence.

The comet is actually quite small.

A mere acre or two of ice and rock

And yet blooming behind it

Is a million-mile tail.

A smear of diamonds and dust

Curling in its wake.

Some people are like that,

Passing briefly into our orbit

Having no idea of the wide wash of color,

The glittering ash,

They've left expanding behind them.

Tossed like roses

Or kisses into the wind.

And so tonight,

I lift up on my toes

To catch the last glimpse

Of something real,

But rare,

As it slips beyond the horizon,

Heading back home

To the place it began.

The night sparkling with stars

As it swings out of view

 

You’ve been listening to the poetry of Carrie Newcomer on the Poets Weave. I’m Romayne Rubinas Dorsey.

Comet

(Wikimedia)

Carrie Newcomer is a songwriter, recording artist, performer, educator, and activist. She has published three books of poetry and essays, in addition to nineteen music recordings. In September 2021, she released an album with a companion book of poems titled Until Now. Carrie lives in the wooded hills of

South Central Indiana with her husband and two shaggy rescue dogs.

On this edition of the Poets Weave, Carrie reads "Even Then" and "A Million-Mile Tail."

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