Friday, October 18, 2019

The Dog, a Survivor, Was Dead

The television in the breakfast lounge of the Comfort Inn in Chelsea Michigan is tuned to a local Detroit morning's news show, the station showing clips from Trump's rally in Dallas last night as well as mentioning Mulvaney's comments in yesterday's presser. It is 6:10am as I type this, I am the only person in the breakfast lounge. The station quickly segues to coverage of tonight's crucial Michigan 4A football game between Farmington v North Farmington, interviewing both head coaches in the hour I sit here. Below, Lake Erie from Seat 12A Southwest flight 1322 yesterday.


Claudine Rankin

I was listening for the dog
when the locks were pried open.
The man was dead. The dog, a survivor,
was dead. It happens
more often this way.
A disease left
untreated; the body,
in confusion, gives in.
The bomb breathes its fire down
the hallway, the son comes back
in pieces; the body,
in confusion, gives in.
The grief is a planet. A dust ring.
A small moon that’s been hidden
under my pillow, that’s been changing
the way my body moves this whole time.

1 comment:

  1. 1)speaking of breakfast, yesterday i ordered a waffle iron which was identified as a best buy by consumer reports

    i intend to use it to make waffles - for example, mary mcdougall's recipe, found at

    2)vegan waffles are acting locally - at some point, in the mood to think globally, i or somebody like me might read