By ire’ne lara silva
they announce us Valentina Covarrubias montada en Viento
my girl does not cower does not wave or smile…
my girl does not cower does not wave or smile…
Explore Poems: Pets
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- By ire’ne lara silvawe are taught the beauty of the rose
the serenity of the soft and the still
the austerity of silver stars… - By Jack Collom"When one is seen gliding through the woods and close to the observer, it passes like a thought, and…
- By Fatimah AsgharMy teacher says of their cat, now gone
missing. In his absence, everything is still.
The small, silvered… - By Triin Pajamy father plays in a field.
he sees a horse, meek and glowing.
he touches the animal,
but when you … - By Erin Marie LynchAll the while the dog was dying.
I didn’t know. His little heaps
of yellow vomit. Damp spots
where he’d slept. I didn’t know
what it meant until meaning
sat still enough for me to see
nothing else. Then a man put
in my hand a pamphlet... - By Anne CarsonBETWEEN US AND
animals is a namelessness.
We flail around
generically —
camelopardalis is what
the Romans came up with
or "giraffe" ( it looked to
them like a camel crossed
with a leopard ) or get the
category wrong — a musk
Ox isn't an ox at all... - By Nathan HoksIt's confusing, after eating so much cauliflower
From the serving tray, to find oneself alone
Like this, a cutout on the cutting board long after
The blade has dropped. Whatever is useful
In the cruciferous digestive experience will lodge
Somewhere in the psyche's cluttered nest
So... - By Katie HartsockMid-morning, a girl and dog attend the woods,
the lilies of the valley just shy thin shoots.
The Boy Scouts' flying squirrel huts are crooked
after last night's storm, and the woody vines tangled loops,
depending. Girl palms the oak she calls half hers,
two... - By Tina Mozelle BrazielThree hundred twenty is the number
of frogs I’ve raised
and released during the pandemic.
Yes, I’m trying to impress you,
but I don’t count the dead.
The ones the hunter drove over.
The... - By Derek SheffieldLast patches of snow all but gone and first
wildflowers flecking the lawn, I walked out
to the shed and pulled open the door
with a woody squeak, and there, rising from the dirt floor,
surrounded by a dusty clutter of tools,
a little mountain,... - By Jennifer L. KnoxAbby hates car rides. All buck and thrash,
her gray swayback swells and her limbs
flail like drumsticks when we lift her
("One, two, three!") into the backseat.
Hey, if I'd spent ten years in a... - By Betsy FrancoSend to: techno_cat@catmail.com
From: me@catmail.com
When writing friends an email
I sometimes &p*&%^$#
have a fit
if Mitchell walks across the keys
k:j^$% and adds a note
vpq#peifgu3gy ... - By Talvikki AnselOn the buffy-tan painted house sides
there’s a hornets’ nest we let grow, huge
domed head, anchored crown, helmet of paper
folded and striated like metamorphic rock,
ashy layers increased by each returning hornet,
chewed wood pulp, saliva, soft tree branches
masticated, first a papier-mâché bulb,
phallic... - By Martin DyarOn the phone, when the vet who was waylaid
sounded stunned by what Burke had just described,
and reasoned that the mare was getting worse,
Burke, although at first sorely grief-winded,
found within himself another cup of poise,
downed it quick, and then, as recommended,
brought... - By Duane NiatumI.
Stars among
corn fields
above fences
the crows
line like
darkness points,
spread over the earth
like tea leaves
in a cup;
the sky
without a cloud
braid breaks
the spell
of people
stepping from a church
smaller than
a sunbeam
at sunrise
or sunset.
II.
Not free,
an inside color
or outside color,
I sit
on the cottage
steps and purr,
a tomcat
home to
die for
the... - By Patricia Jabbeh Wesley"Mom, you wouldn't let me adopt a dog in my dream,"
my daughter tells me. "Really? Go back to your
dream, my child, and adopt that dog," I say.
Tend to it, humor it, take it to the vet, clip its toenails.
Give it... - By Paisley RekdalSo after M died, she turned
to the dog. His copper eyes, the sinewy
haunch muscles. The way he perched
by the door of M's study as if
sensing the body he missed
behind it. Something she would not
let herself feel, dry-eyed
at the funeral, refusing... - By Clodagh Beresford DunneRemember your neighbor who mistook a wolf for a dog?
He rescued a pup from a storm not realizing it was a whelp.
His trust in the pup was limited because of its strange eyes.
The man paddocked off his garden and locked... - By Dorothy ChanMy mother warns me not to blow-dry my hair
too hard, turning it from black to rust, and
I must wear my black hair proudly. Black,
the color of clothing my grandmother hates,
because...