Amber Stults – Book Reviewer and Writer

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In a twist to the Story of the Month feature, I’d like to highlight a poem for National Poetry Month. 

My husband introduced me to it while the first Resident Corgi was going through chemotherapy.  Except for the first six or seven weeks of his life, Zilla was with us for an unforgettable eleven years.  The treatments bought us about four more months.  It was worth every penny.  There were more good days than bad when the end was nearing. 

Gravy by Raymond Carver

No other word will do.  For that’s what it was.  Gravy.
Gravy, these past ten years.
Alive, sober, working, loving and
being loved by a good woman.  Eleven years
ago he was told he had six months to live
at the rate he was going.  And he was going
nowhere but down.  So he changed his ways
somehow.  He quit drinking!  And the rest?
After that it was all gravy, every minute
of it, up to and including when he was gold about,
well, some things that were breaking down and
building up inside his head.  “Don’t weep for me,”
he said to his friends.  “I’m a lucky man.
I’ve had ten years longer than I or anyone
expected.  Pure gravy.  And don’t forget it.”