Poetry
The Bones They Left
by Shanley Poole
In the end at least
we could say earth
was finally quiet.
We left to become outcast
angels and wondered
if divorce was our final
act of love to the planet.
I feared most for the dogs,
how some would starve
at our doorsteps and never
take to the streets, wait
endlessly for our return,
a scratch behind the ear
and a bag full of treats.
They would wait, we knew,
while the ivy grew, the lights
flickered out. They’d become
bones under fallen buildings
before they left watch for surely
any day we were coming.
Hadn’t we always known?
We were no match
for their loyalty.