his howl echoed and the cornfields waved, whispering

much to say about a roaming black and white dog disturbance

her face dropped and she clinched Raggedy Anne's cloth hand

unaware the kitchen-begging-for-food dog

the playing-with-a-squeaky-ball dog

had it in him to hunt other animals

ones that rustled corn silks and smelled of wetness

but he did-and she was there to see it--

his race after gunshots and freefalling feathers

her eyes darted between the waving corn

her hidden place where escape bowed to silence

and waltzed to the time-stopping fragments of bliss

she gazed long on the shadows of groundhogs

elegant in their dance of store bought delights of others

and holding Grandma's Ann Page hot dog bun in its paws

a humming above and around

the queen would search her out from the rest

sting her twice and die

cold mud on a hot arm and leg

and A&P cream soda to dry her tears

Freihoffer chocolate chip cookies

able to make even Queen bee stings

otherwise dramatic--

forgotten

but then

when did we become hunters--

dog, man, woman, child

searching for sustenance in one another

torn up and divided into smaller parts

easier than to deal with the guilt

of devouring hearts

of lying to everyone

fields, yes--

but mountains in the distance

Hudson Valley childhood left teetering on the cusp

of knowing too much from parental tumult

a supposedly uncontrolled hunger borne beneath the flesh

of a cheating man weak of will and strong on ego

embracing a dual life to erase the other from his mind

no regards to the

other

hunting for the other

she watched her dog in the field

and buried her young face in his coat

when he ran to her feet

faithfully