Good-bye, Gavin

GOOD-BYE GAVIN
September 3, 2006

Did I say good-bye the last
time I saw him? I can’t remember.
I know I toyed with his mane and
gazed into his eyes and told him
how much I adore him. I worked
the dirt from his shoulder with
my fingers and savored the silky
feel of his snuffly nose. I know
I leaned over the flimsy barbed
wire fence and warmed my
hands in his winter coat. I
whispered in his fuzzy bitty
ears that I love him and shared
the longings of my heart and the
details of my dreams. But now
the yard is empty and his stall
is like a cold buoy all alone in the
open sea of his abandoned paddock
and his legs no longer stand against
the breeze in the grassy waves. But
I think I told him I didn’t have
time to stay and that I’d see him
again soon and that I would bring
him apples and carrots and huge
handfuls of grass. The tall fat ones
that he likes the best and that he
could watch me while I pulled them
so he could savor each bite when I
returned and that I would stay with
him forever next time. I’m sure
I told him how much I think of him.
I wonder if he tried to say good-bye,
but I can’t remember.