03.01.22
01:45
we put the dog down in january at the beginning of the bad year, before the virus hit new york and then chicago and then a little town south of boston where the photo albums are collecting dust in a garage. we put the dog down on a good morning - that's the hard part - and when the lady arrived with a long needle in a black case he danced down the driveway to meet her. that bright sun. the grass would be clean for another week. we burned him with his favorite toy and five days later i moved to the city and a month later the virus arrived. and the bad year has lasted longer than that, twice as long and still counting now in another january. we put the dog down and everybody was there and my sisters and i poured whiskey and said it was a good day, and wasn't that a good thing, and wasn't that the hard part. i've done the math. we may only have a month of days left together, the weddings, the babies, no more dogs left to put down. before the virus i wasn't thinking like that. wasn't always trying to find out how long is left before the ice melts, the body shutters closed, the string holding the pins on the map together snaps. the last time i went grocery shopping with my sisters was december twenty-ninth, two thousand and sixteen. i'd bring the dog back just to put him down again.
YOU ARE READING
words don't come that easy.
PoésieI've tried. but i've always failed to contain these thousand words in a few sentences, maybe im bad at expressing macro feelings in the few words that I'm limited to. you might think you know me enough because it's been a long time since i first wav...
