i have nothing to say
and i am saying it--
i had a dogwood tree in the back yard when i was a little girl in virgina.
what tree did you have
when you were a little girl?
today was a dog, dog day.
thank dog it's night now. cooler, more hopeful, somehow.
the dog tags of you, me, I, we, stashed in a box,
doghouse throwaways. Even the namesake
tree whose blossoms some call Jesus-flowers
for the rust-grooved tips of the petals
as if nails now removed had indented
the shape of a cross, betrays my mood
how all those springs ago
seeing our tree nailed with bloody after bloody
crucifix I said this beauty's no foo-foo
and sure enough my dog-weary dearie
mowing today, the spring long gone,
I brush a limb on whose tired leaves mites amble
the edible thoroughfares and as if to confirm it,
our neighbor's mutt runs along the fence yapping
dogwood dogwood dogwood as the mower chugs on,
our train leaving for the city beneath the grass.