Dead Pets
In dreams they speak again,
soft focus tails wagging,
whiskers electric.
The ones we have named.
Those wide-eyed refugees
we took home in cars
or curled in our arms
fragile ribs trembling.
They return like blood
to fill again a round vein
in our thoughts.
Those we once called mine,
now understand, as we do -
it was we who were once theirs.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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