among

Time to walk my dead. Time to clutch their landless hands in my elbow 
garden so they won’t shudder & shit those government-issued overalls. 
I treat them like lost lambs, seventy-two since the last trip; once we slosh 
in the creek—long ribbon of grey-eyed fledglings tied to my ribs with 
rubber strings—we’ll tour the local dog cemetery & look for Butch, Clyde
& Poochie. What would I be without them? They welcome these afternoon 
walks, where I show them the triptych in the back woods: one part rotten 
deer-stand, one part quail coveys in concentric circles, broken fence 
crossings. By now, they’ve snitched all their stories. So I grill them like 
lifeless 8-balls. Blood slithers past my toothless future. Did you get your 
own room? Is it quiet there? Blink three times if you’re certain there’s love 
left for me.



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Laressa Dickey was raised in Tennessee. She is the author of four chapbooks from MIEL (www.miel-books.com) including A Piece of Information About His Invisibility. A chapbook entitled [apparatus for manufacturing sunset] is forthcoming from dancing girl press. (www.laressadickey.com)