dog
i’m not certain of the procedures or the tools,
not certain what you were placed upon or
how you were laid down. but i like to think
your head rested between your two front paws
as it had when, the family having finished
dinner, you would join us in the living room,
step up onto the hearth and settle for the
evening. why the hearth? there was the couch,
the carpet, and your pillow. any one would seem
more inviting. but night after night you would
choose the fireplace, and before going up to
bed i’d smile and shake my head, wondering
what made you sleep there. i wanted to bribe
you with a treat, coax you down or carry you
to the couch so i would feel that you were more
comfortable. but you would have none of it.
with a kick and a sigh you let me know that
you would not be persuaded, would not be forced.
resigning, i’d go upstairs, thinking you stubborn.
one night you had a stroke, and in the days
following were rooted to the carpet beneath the
fireplace. when i tried to help you stand you
could not. your back legs caved and you
crumpled in my arms. never had anything felt
so heavy as your head when i lifted it so that
you could drink from your dish. drowning had
never seemed more suffocating than as i watched
the pneumonia drive your shallow breathing.
the air i breathed had never filled my lungs so
fully, and the carpet had never felt so hard. each
night i placed your dish beside you, full, and
left you alone. four mornings later i woke and
found you still as the water in your bowl. like a
sponge dropped into a basin you had absorbed
all you could, sunk silently, and come to rest
on the bottom. as smoke meshes with fog
you had left, faded from sight, thickened
the air. you had abandoned the hearth, laid
down in the fire, flaked into ashes, and settled.
