The Lost Country

Spring 2013 • Vol. 2, No. 1

issn 2326-5310 (online)


By Donald Carlson

This work was published in the Spring 2013 issue of The Lost Country. You may purchase a copy of this issue from us or, if you prefer, from Amazon.

The ritual begins again at dawn.
The dog will sit and stare out the back door
At rabbits as they’re browsing on the lawn
And wonder what on earth we’re waiting for.
I fetch the leash. Before I clip it on
He’s poised to start our wandering outside.
Dawn penetrates the darkness; it is gone,
Then instantly, the light and dark divide.
Just like that—Oh, dear!—the night has ended.
We’re off and running yet another race,
Retracing every step we’ve ever wended.
My mouth fills with, “Hail, Mary, full of grace.”
And so begin all journeys that we take.
I see now that nights fall but mornings break.