Dog

Living with a dog again
made me think a lot about

packs,

and what it means to sleep in a pile
just because you need to feel
touch.

My sister had dishes in the cupboard
that were handed down from my
mother
and when I ran my finger around the edge of a bowl
in the soapy dishwater, I was a
child
again.

And when she left,
at long last,
the pack
was broken for the last time.

And that is what terrifies me the most.
The solitude
of dogs

without their packs,
howling at the dusty, empty moon.