Every Friday night we feature a short story, essay, personal narrative,
poem, spoken word, or short film for your enjoyment.
Tonight’s poem is from Kimberly Dixon-Mays
The second pet dog,
comes to the back door, morning
after a night on his own.
There is blood, and limping,
a gash on his right foreleg.
I bring the other dog
as I take this one upstairs;
I want to give the chance to say goodbye.
I wake and slide scenes like tiles,
click their square edges
to the pieces that preoccupy me:
the limping career left on its own
the dying love affair
the healing gash in my own belly.
I watch myself nurse myself.
I smell the outside.
Kimberly D. Dixon-Mays is a Cave Canem and Ragdale fellow whose publications include Reverie, Anthology of Chicago, Uproot, Consequence and Rhino magazines, the anthology Trigger Warning, and her collections SenseMemory and More Than a Notion: Reflections on (Black) Marriage.