The dog’s back
The dog’s hollow bark fell
onto the grass like
an animate object.
It looks gray.
The baby’s cry laid
in the air like a red balloon.
The sparrow’s chirp
hung in space like
a bevy of stars
in the black sky.
The rabbit’s scent
gave call to the coyote
stalking down its prey.
Life with written words
The autumn leaves lay
on the unsolid ground
gemmed with rain.
Self-pity clings to me
like an unironed dress.
I move smilingly.
Look at my teeth –
they are all still there
like a resentful husband.
When I was a teenager
I laughed at everything.
I was looking for a true boyfriend
but I got laid instead.
© Dawnell Harrison
Dawnell Harrison has been published in over 200 magazines and journals and has had five books of poetry published including Voyager, The maverick posse, The fire behind my eyes, The love death, and The color red does not sleep. She possesses a BA from The University of Washington.
