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.


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