Mary di Michele
Buddy was the first to teach me to love
dogs, to trust them with my hand, my heart,
if not my muffins. What did I know?
I wanted a literary dog name, Bolden
from Coming Through Slaughter. Instead I was
given another way of being in the world,
away from the reading lamp, those long
evenings with him, ambling under stars,
walks in any weather. To be as if never
born. This cold Montreal spring, the run-off
iced over again, I am careful as I walk myself
across the park, not stopping to smell anything.
a devenir animal? an Ovidian metamorphosis? an injunction to sniff and move on?
And so for day 2985