Love

Behind his house, my father’s dogs

Sleep in kennels, beautiful,

He built just for them.

They do not bark.

Do they know he is dead?

They wag their tails

& head. They beg

& are fed.

Their grief is colossal

& forgetful.

Each day they wake

Seeking his voice,

Their names.

By dusk, they seem

To unremember everything—

To them, even hunger

Is a game. For that, I envy.

For that, I cannot bear to watch them

Pacing their cage. I try to remember

They love the best-confined space

To feel safe. Each day

A saint comes by to feed the pair

& I draw closer

The shades.

I’ve begun to think of them

As my father’s other sons,

As kin. Brothers-in-paw.

My eyes each day thaw.

One day the water cuts off.

Then back on.

They are outside dogs—

Which is to say, healthy

& victorious, purposeful

& one giant muscle

Like the heart. Dad taught

Them not to bark, to point

Out their prey. To stay.

Were they there that day?

They call me

Like witnesses & will not say.

I ask for their care

& their carelessness—

Wish of them forgiveness.

I must give them away.

I must find for them homes,

Sleep restlessly in his.

All night I expect they pace

As I do, each dog like an eye

Roaming with the dead

Beneath an unlocked lid