Elegy for Our Dog

Amy M. Clark

This morning on waking
you and I were rolled to opposite
edges of our bed, as if trailing our hands
in the waters of two different oceans.
Last night I heard you
having a snack in the kitchen,
rinsing a plate, walking up the stairs.
I fell asleep before you reached me.
Once I observed us at a cookout
teasing each other in the presence
of friends. Then momentarily
we were alone on the patio.
Our dog was allowed in our bedroom
but not on the bed. I miss her
nosing the mattress in the morning
and how I’d reach across you to pet her head.