b r i d l e s
When he growls at empty air I’m convinced
in the realness of ghosts. His whimper
a message from a world beyond.
When walking in the afternoon
he discovers mysteries in rubbish;
an abandoned diaper on the corner,
bones from chicken wings, plastic bags
on the breeze, these things are interesting.
No words, just fur and fur and fur and a desire
to run.
The Dog is a Poem
Above illustration: Miranda Foxx
Kelly Jones (poem) was born and raised in Raleigh, NC, but she currently works and plays in New Orleans.