This Dog Is Not a Dog / Dear AuntieRascal2017-12-29T23:12:59+00:00
This Dog Is Not a Dog
Hershey. What else could you name a chocolate lab but Hershey? Hershey wet mouth lapping from a dirty stream. Hershey soft paw digging out a metal stake. Hershey long claw scattering holes across the yard, which my younger self tried to fill with fallen leaves. When Hershey saw this, she tried to wrestle me out of her yard, out of her home on Craig Road. She rammed my mouth with the top of her head, drew blood and knocked the corner off a tooth.
Our mother was furious.
It’s been ten years, and that tooth still doesn’t sit right in my mouth. It’s been ten years, and Hershey limps up stairs. Ferocious scatterbrain, she is an old, old girl, having chewed her angry way through year after year. When I leave for college, she starts sleeping outside my room, and when I visit, the sneezes she plants on my feet say: Sister,
I could still take you.
In memory of Velva Grebe
You would have liked it here, nestled in the shadow of a squirrel’s nest. I imagine your hands
cradling the air like an egg. Trees fold into one another like the pages of your Bible,
each gold leaf unraveling into parable or fickle, frostbitten verse.
Here, the truth rests hunched beside a memory: that one day each field and forest
will shake itself upright and write us both into that damp biography of nothing.
Emily Bartholet is a highly caffeinated student at Dickinson College, where she wishes she could major in everything. When she’s not studying, she can usually be found writing under a tree, or, when it rains, curled up in a beloved coffee shop. Her poetry has appeared online and in print, most notably in Third Point Press, Half Mystic, Inklette, and Rat’s Ass Review’s Love and Ensuing Madness collection.