The Three-Legged Dog of Standing Rock, Alabama
By Parker Snellgrove
I dig my fingers into the fur before me,
clutch this beating, breathing body
close to my cold one.
Memories of summertime
try to worm their way beneath
the weight of everything
on my shoulders.
I wish I’d put on warmer clothes,
just like I always do.
The pressure of a nearby storm
holds us tight to one another—
a grinning tongue licks my cheek.
Here I am, and here you are
with me. My heart fights
to lift. The maples, the kudzu, the azaleas
all wave in the rising wind.
It’s almost time
for me to be blown away,
to leave this place lonely again.
The Trinity Review 