The Lotus Eater
by Shannon Adele
My dogs are lying
like shotguns. Curled
crescent moons on the carpet
And I hate to think of how silly I am
for loving that black fur so much more than yours
Because youve made this hole-
apartment into some sort of cave
or den for some nonexistent pack.
Some pact that I never got to spit on
or break bread over or pin prick
my finger to touch blood with.
Like that warm winter
that I loved you and the dry heat
that was nothing like Seattle opened
every little vessel in your John Barrymore nose.
You really did have a great profile.
But now Im sitting here stuck
with my ears clipped
you with your tail between your legs
And thats all.
Posted on 02/15/2007
Copyright © 2019 Shannon Adele