The Unimportant

Even in a house of death, someone had to walk the dog.
Pausing at my curb, he let the puppy circle and hunch in my grass.
Somehow that day it was unimportant.

I saw an unfamiliar car at first,
parked at an angle.
What made me think to call, I'll never know.
I'm not prophetic as a rule,
and it's not like I knew when it happened,
but that unexpected car,
parked at an angle,
tipped me off.

Had I looked harder,
I would have seen the owl,
that prince of darkness, 
harbinger of death,
roosting in my oak tree,
watching the puppy with uncertainty,
or benignancy - one life spared.

As the puppy grew, he pulled the boy along,
arm outstretched, until that boy learned to handle
the leash he'd been given.

The owl stayed for days, watching us carefully.
I wondered if it was you, undercover,
checking to make sure we'd be alright.

For weeks I didn't want to return to the street.
I wanted to drive - anywhere, everywhere - home was
unwelcoming. But the owl flew on, and the puppy
stopped pulling, and the boy grew taller - 
taller even than you were.