Lisa Trudeau

Dreaming the Dead Yellow Dog

today or yesterday or another year like this
I configure drifts    nickel skies
late-ice swamp    tree to tree
I slip past pots of methane belch
radiating lines of seep to shore where
something stares    snout white with age
no collar   not loved   not lost
dead just the same   stopped
and eaten through   its middle clean
frozen quick pimento red
the rest untouched    yellow fur
one black eye open   unseeing sleep
hours pass   or weeks
he will not leave me   that dead yellow dog
crisping leaves as I walk home
head beneath my hand as I wake from
dreams of spring-slick trails
claws pinching mud   a slog
through thawing woods to find him
snout now ringed in green
body mostly bone and pelt
maggots curl through what is left
movement everywhere   wood   swamp   sky
peepers louder than blood cork my ears
how warm the shallows   the dark wet earth
minutes or ages again rain will rise
drown him beneath lotus buds
nodding heavy heads at me alone
awake   in whatever now

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Lisa Trudeau is a former publishing professional and independent bookseller. She lives in Massachusetts. Recent work has been published by Levee Magazine, Cypress Press, Constellations, Eastern Iowa Review and Connecticut River Review, among others.