Elegy for Dog and Girl by Paige Gilchrist

Outside the house in Missouri
where we lived when I was 12

there was a slope and a pin oak
and a little black dog named

Hercules, who we buried under
the tree after he chased one car

too many. We wrapped him
in the blue-rose blanket. Tucked

in as if for the night. And I lay
on my bunk, my sister below

and thought about bones that are
cold and alone and my body hurt

from growing and for all
I didn’t know was gone.

— from Juniper Volume 7, Issue 2