This is an elegy for a good dog,
by Emily Schmitz
This is an elegy for a good dog,
we say to ourselves.
It's just after Dad has dug the grave on the hillside. We come
in the screen door.
We squeeze ourselves around
a dog-shaped empty space.
Remember how she left—
turned away from—cookies cooling on the counter?
Waited patiently until one of us
got out her own dinner during our dinner,
indoors with us. She
B A R K E D
when someone came up the driveway,
slinking, creeping, after nightfall. She
ran through the woods and didn’t come back
with muddy paws.
She jumped up on the couch
up to me.
But if it were yesterday it would be an ode to a bad dog, at least if it were
up to me.
She jumped up on the couch
with muddy paws;
ran through the woods and didn’t come back
slinking, creeping, after nightfall; she
—when someone came up the driveway—
B A R K E D
indoors with us. She
got out her own dinner during our dinner,
waited patiently until one of us
turned away from cookies cooling on the counter.
Remember how she left
a dog-shaped empty space
we squeeze ourselves around
in the screen door?
It's just after Dad has dug the grave on the hillside we come,
we say to ourselves,
this is an elegy for a good dog.