Nancy Knowles

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With Dogs at Grandview Cemetery

 

The road runs uphill toward the mausoleum,

spring sun hanging in the south, just above the ridge,

gravestones in neat rows. I unload the dogs,

and we jog, our shadows long behind us.

 

Pack animals, dogs need hierarchy.

One dog on my right, the other circles,

knotting me in her leash, smiling with her ears.

From the mausoleum steps, the valley unrolls,

 

greening with blades after the night’s rain.

Gravestones are playing cards laid out on baize.

Lift a corner, send a wave through the fabric,

and toss them all into the air in a shock

 

of resurrection. We pause, damp rising off

the asphalt in mist, and then walk downhill

toward the flagpole, the heart of the necropolis,

where names gather round us, tongue-tied but eager

 

for news of the world. Uphill on our second lap,

I stoop to clean up. The groundskeeper shares a new rule:

no dogs. As we exit the gate, I mourn for the dead,

lulled and shelved, secured from the spring.

 

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Down Dog

 

Adrienne asks, what’s down there?

meaning under the surface of breath,

 

breath like waves. I see a blue

deep with wrecked ship

 

and the blue-black blob

of monster. And we

 

dive with camera and knife

from sunlit deck, from flowers

 

and greenery, into fathoms

of silent moonlight, heavy

 

with breath, the mask

powering blood, our marrow

 

molten current, singing

beneath the shellac of bone.

 

Yet, we cannot muscle our way

in the darkness. To access

 

wordless wreck, we need words,

words we spell half inverted,

 

breath like tide in its trough,

body saluting the sun.

 

 

 

Dogged

 

I am the dog of cheerful perseverance,

arriving each day smiling,

ready for the order, game for anything,

antidote to despair. When the lamb

 

slips the fold again, I race after it,

glad for the task, using all my tricks

to return it to the herd. I leap

onto the treadmill or into the river

 

after a pheasant, bounce by the door

for the same daily walk, rush past

my brothers for the same kibble,

patrol the same darkness at the fence line,

 

meeting familiar shadows and scents

with renewed attention. I charge as eagerly

into the morning as I throw myself

onto the floor by the door at night,

 

rushing into my dreams all legs,

lips, and whiskers in motion.

The only thing that can break me

is losing you. Don’t go! I will run

 

for you today, tomorrow, next year.

I will point, fetch, and roll for you.

If you leave, I will howl for you.

Name the rat, and I will dive down

 

the muddy hole until you have to haul

me out. Name the enemy, and I will

never forget his crime. If the earth moves

without your permission, I will cry out

 

the alarm, astounded at the unthinkable

disloyalty. If I once pulled a pizza

from the kitchen counter, it was only

because I thought you meant me to,

 

leaving that edge cantilevered over

my nose. I am that soft rustle

in the moonlight, that wet muzzle

in your lap, that tail that wags for you

 

no matter what you have done.

Let me savage your shoes and

scatter your fresh raked leaves

just once more before I sleep.