Oh, Bulldog
Who was found on the road,
Paws scrambling and hinds splintered
Into bright shining slivers of
Scarlet meat and shards of bone;
Who wandered lost into the terrible
Twilight of no headlights,
Searching for touch from
The ones who left you unattended.
Oh Bully, I bury
The life I end prematurely;
Oh brother, who I bury in the muddy road.
Whose grave I dug shallow in the muddy road,
And grasps no meaning
Of life and death,
Who turns tiny circles and begs
For his hind-legs to halt the hurt
Oh Dog,
Who begged me with dark eyes,
Whose chest labored for every breath
Whose head I crushed with a framing hammer,
Having been on my way to frame.
Oh Bulldog,
Who keeps this man from sleep—
Quantum Resurrection 4
At your grave
When I look down at you I wonder
What it’s like when it snows—
Like when a tree falls in a forest,
If I’m not here are you not either?
I age
You’re young.
This is the last place I saw you.
At your grave
I think about when Mom’s car broke down
And we walked miles
In the cold.
I carried you.
The snowflakes fell on my head, not yours.
I held you tight to my chest
Drudged with burning muscles
Towards the far-off horizon
Where the yellow sun dropped into the twilight
Colliding with night’s chilled scent.
We had miles and miles to go …
And I wish we did tonight—
Now,
When the sun falls into twilight
My sight of you fades,
Limb from limb I’m tired.
I’ll build a fire near
The yellow rocks beaten white
By the icy surf near here
I want to be able to warm you.
To press my chest against the frozen earth.
Corey Smith holds an MFA from Wichita State University. He now lives in Wichita, where he teaches high school English. His poems and short stories have appeared in numerous small press magazines. contact
