Copper Dog

Copper dog had been reckless
too many times. Now, blue rain rinses
his sins. Little bits of sorrow
like hard candy, cover the ground,
a sugar stink rising, reminiscent
of bad holidays. Who suggests forgiveness
to the animals? What is the pretend love
that lodges high in trees?
The hapless Sunday flows into a dry river
as canals are carved without care
for any of the sciences.
What do you say to the dog now?
Look how shiny you are, such a pretty red coat.

What I Recall Later

Quick dreams of falling ice,
we run and run, the steam
of our breath a cold vocabulary.
Dodge and lean, a lament
from the skies with piercing notes.
Never safe in the stretched time
that has no hours, we flee,
and I cannot say if there was sound
and I cannot say if there was rescue.

Mercedes Lawry has published poetry in such journals as Poetry, Nimrod, Prairie Schooner, Poetry East, The Saint Ann’s Review, and others. Nominated for a Pushcart Prize, she’s published two chapbooks, most recently “Happy Darkness”. She’s also published short fiction, essays and stories and poems for children. She lives in Seattle.