By Erin Marie Lynch
All the while the dog was dying.
I didn’t know. His little heaps
of yellow vomit. Damp spots
where he’d slept. I didn’t know
what it meant until meaning
sat still enough for me to see
nothing else. Then a man put
in my hand a pamphlet...
I didn’t know. His little heaps
of yellow vomit. Damp spots
where he’d slept. I didn’t know
what it meant until meaning
sat still enough for me to see
nothing else. Then a man put
in my hand a pamphlet...