“Yesterday”
Yesterday, my dog died
I tried to give him a proper burial, trembling in the dead of the night
with a shovel in hand
Today, I see the dogs out at midnight in the greenery
Bounding about with their canines pearl
(a flash of white in the distance–i wish it could linger)
Yesterday, I died
Today, I am born revitalized
Each rumble of laughter tumbling from the pets’ chests
Another flash of joy
Pressing ever-closer,
Hot breath fogging the windowpane
I see:
Rain droplets fall on their speckled fur
Paws
Claws
Eyes gleaming with whispered hushes of something anew
I see my darkened reflection in the window with my forehead pressed to the glass, perspiring
Wonder if the Golden Retriever ever fell in love with the neighboring poodle
Whether the Dachshund
Had a dream of one day conquering the species
Whether the Pitbull felt lonely
Without the p
r
e
s
s
of his owner’s chafing leash
Against his neck
Or whether a pet
Truly calls that place
Its home
I can’t pinpoint when exactly in our history we decided to be our greatest enemy
When pain and sacrifice became synonymous with hard work
(The Yorkshire terrier wishes it could be as fast as the German shepherd)
Maybe in captive solitude
We succumb to our inner weaknesses
Let ourselves be the lesser one to submit to our flamboyant masters
And pray for eternal unity
But instead of hands intertwined together as a gesture of peace
It is tooth and claw
Bark and bite
Leaves ripped straight from their roots in jagged brutality,
rife with patterns of smeared thumbprints
where the traces of a gardener’s love remain broken
And when the collar is unclasped from our necks…
What then?
We still flee back to where we came from
Back to all we know:
Wet moss beneath our feet
As we run to the predator and become the prey
Spinning in the air with our blissful ignorance
Clouds foreboding
Hands warm
In some abhorrent form
Of
A
happily
ever
after–
Yesterday, I slept on the floor
Today, I inhale the scent of chewy toys and kibble
from the forgotten crate by my bed
and even later still i will question whether
there really ever was a true place those dogs
could call home
whether the fabric of their bed was comprised of all mismatched stitches
from the old man running the tailor shop
but i suppose
the one benefit of being a pet dog
is that you’d never know if you could’ve been something greater,
anyway.