Power of the Dog

Deliver me from the sword, my soul from the power of the dog

—Pslams 22:20

Ice cubes clink
under paper umbrellas
while the ocean swallows my regrets,
popping them into her mouth
one after another like bar nuts.

The dog barks in his low fast phrases,
warding off strangers.
Trained to sniff out sickness,
he tracks that sour mead in the morning,
a cancer crowding my brain.

I know the smell of him too,
wet and full of earth,
the taste of salt on my lips.
I have no breathy sighs in the end.
I cry out, forsaken.

Oh God, have you left me
at the mercy of my enemies?
While the dog sits on his haunches,
teeth bared, licking his lips
and filling his belly with his own vomit.

Published by Black Moon Magazine