Walking Shelter Dogs

I tell them the best moments are when
it’s just you and the dog out in the field
when the sunlight braids itself in the tall grasses
and the birds gossip and flit in the nearby tree line.
You arrive at the memorialized bench
where the plaque thanks a dead volunteer.
As you both sit there
you run your hand down his back
and rub his chest as he takes a deep breath
and sighs. You say a few kind words to him
and think about your own
abandonment:
when your sister forgot to pick you up from school
when your best friend made out
with the boy she knew you liked
and you weren’t friends any more
when the parent you adored
broke open with a terrible imperfection.

This poem was published in Brief Wilderness.