Lying in state
Isn’t it his dog
we’re drawn to,
his yellow lab retriever?
 
Lying in the Rotunda.
Close to his flag-draped,
military coffin.
 
Trained to stay, until
she’s called to be
of service. Somehow
 
she knows he’s still
here. And that wheelchair,
against the wall,
 
was his, too. A trainer
thought to bring,
to let her feel less
 
anxious. To sense,
if called, it was her job
to sit under his shaking
 
hand. Which she can’t
see, it’s her leash he’s
holding, inside the metal
 
box. With the bone,
he told her, he’d keep
for her eternity.
 
Gary Margolis
Cornwall