Charon's Obol

November sun is June's grown older.
It makes its nest in my eyes, no brim on my hat.
My dog trots through leaves the color of rusty wheel wells
as the light goes low like melting butterfat.

I will stay with him as he will stay with me,
each of us faithful, finite and flesh-fragile
until the dusk-time when we both sleep at last,
he with his red collar, and in my hand his leash and Charon's obol.

for Sunday Muse #83.

Charon is the ferryman who demands a coin, or obol, for passage from this life to the next.


tonispencer said…
Oh my goodness. Such a tender poem. I am glad you have the Zackinator by your side and you by his. I felt this way about my cats. Nothing is more loving and giving than an animal.
robkistner said…
Across the River Styx to the deep sleep of dreams. This was beautiful Shay.
Carrie Van Horn said…
This really grabbed my heart Shay! The relationship we have with our best friends with four legs is a magnificent connection that is sacred to me. This brilliantly displays that to the end. I love the imagery!!!
“each of us faithful, finite and flesh-fragile”
Sherry Blue Sky said…
I can see him the colours - the leaves the colour of rusty wheel wells, the light like melting butterfat. That is a colour I have not equated with the golden-tinged end of day. But now I will remember your words, because that is the exact colour. I am moved by his collar and the leash in your hand. My thoughts are never far from Pup and Jas.
Margaret said…
I just want to wrap myself up in this poem. Beautifully expressed, exquisite. ...and may that darn ferryman just stay away for a long time... I need my pups.
hedgewitch said…
I can't tell you how much I feel this one, Shay--it is so packed with truth and the whole twilight-infused sense of the autumn of our lives--I especially like the first few lines, and the images are so infinitely delicately carved...I am sighing here, and yet, I feel better, that there is a love within still to give and from the most unexpected sources, still to receive.
brudberg said…
This is wonderful, love the tenderness even this close to the river, where you found bliss I saw the horror... still I love how we both saw Styx in the image.
"November sun is June's grown older."

You had me right from that first line. Such a tender, loving poem.
Doctor FTSE said…
My favourite teake of the week.