A few weeks ago I attended a writing workshop with one of my mentors Darrell Bourque, former poet laureate of the state of Louisiana. He asked us to look at common language to explore in a poem form. He suggested a pantoum. I wrote one there, but there were parts that didn’t work for me, some rhymes that seemed forced. Was my heart in it? I knew what I wanted to say. Sometimes a form is the just right thing to contain all that your poem wants to say.
This workshop, Darrell’s gentle guidance, have stayed with me. Last week I copied into my Notes app a billboard catch phrase, “I triple-dog-dare you.”
Yesterday I read Fran Haley’s post, a beautiful pantoum about a rainbow. I looked up the form again and took another shot. This one satisfies me.
On Sunday I texted my neighbor to go for a walk with our doodle dogs. Her husband passed away last Sunday. I didn’t know if she would be up for it, so I was pleased when she agreed to go. Even though she thanked me profusely for reaching out, I felt it was my honor to be with her. Grief can be a weird time, and we are often not sure of the “right” thing to do to help someone through it. The dog walk was the right thing for both of us.
Dog Walk Pantoum
Split in a million heart pieces,
I triple-dog-dare you to go.
We walk our dogs on their leashes
connecting puzzle pieces as we go.I triple-dog-dare you to go
to the place where grief hides in shadows.
Connecting our puzzle pieces as we go.
Comfort in our walk-talk grows.The place where grief hides in shadows;
Listen close to the sound of the wind.
Comfort in our walk-talk grows.
Each of us finds a good friend.Listen close to the sound of the wind
chimes, like a million heart pieces.
Each of us finds a good friend.
We walk our dogs on their leashes.Margaret Simon, draft
Reflections on the Teche 
What a beautiful poem, Margaret, filled with the everyday-and-sacred moments of walking through grief and recovery. In Jewish traditional observance, after a week of shiva following a death, friends come to walk the mourner(s) around the block, or the equivalent—a transition from the first week of mourning to the next month (a second phase of mourning). Your poem captures the power and sacredness of everyday life and the connection with others that comforts, supports, and heals—it is truly beautiful.
Thanks for letting me know about the Jewish tradition following shiva. I didn’t know this. Thanks for reading.
Yes. This time your heart fit perfectly into the form. What a beautiful meditation on grief and compassion.
I love how the repeated lines give this poem a steady, calming rhythm—just like a peaceful walk with a dog. Such a lovely snapshot of a simple, joyful moment!
So many ways to view this slice. I see a great friend. I see grace mixed with grief. I see a writer who drafts and then rewrites to get it to feel just right. Thanks for sharing.
A great poem and a wonderful step to help a friend. The just showing up to do common things can make all the difference when grieving. A perfect thing to do with out lots of pressure. Waling and Talking always seems to help.
Margaret, the best gift is being there, and that’s just a perfect way to reach out – – walking dogs. What could be better? The photo is heartwarming.
As Kim said, the best gift is being there. I know that people are awkward with acknowledging loss and grief. You have clearly reached a hand out to another–so beautiful!
This is me applauding you, Margaret! Gorgeous, rolling rhythms and rhymes here in your pantoum. Mine didn’t rhyme all the way through like yours. It definitely would have slowed me down. And – I cannot think of anything more comforting in the midst of loss than a dog walk together.