i tie my dog gaia to a concrete bench. she howls
i put her on the balcony facing the lake. she howls
uniformed by-law enforcement officers in black & shades,
walkie-talkies, fine the owners of howlin’ dogs at Cultas Lake
this ain’t my house. i don’t want trouble
i put gaia inside, it’s forty degrees celcius. the moon is the sun
as fires blaze across BC. i close the sliding door
exit the kitchen, take three steps &
gaia flies through the glass door
families sit in front of the cabin
stare up at my balcony, jaws dangle
i tear into the house. a star-shaped hole
in the door, shards of glass & blood every where
i call gaia. she jumps through the star-shaped hole
bloody-headed, blood pours out of her mouth
part of her muzzle dangles
we are on beach where people i do not know surround me.
i hold her, trembling. a man tells his wife “go get gauze.” an eternity. four men on knees surround me. one woman stands eight feet away. a hundred people gawk
a man with liquor on his breath is telling me what to do. & i recognize craig philbrook, a boy i kissed in the woods fifty years ago. am i that old?
i’m shouting. “can you get a glassman over here!” my body breathing me. holding the trembling
a man wraps gauze around her mouth. we head to the car. she breaks the gauze. gasps for breath. he rewraps, around her neck, and mouth.
i am alone. i want someone to come with me. a boy googles the directions. boys to the rescue when it comes to trauma.
i am driving to the Sardis Vet’s. i wish there were ambulances for animals. traffic is at a stand still.
at the Vedder Bridge. construction. i drive up the wrong
side of the road. someone calls me a fuckin’ bitch. i’m untouchable
“my dog is dying” i shout.
i’m as gaia’d as jannie is lulu’d.
at the vets, a first nations girl with emerald eyes has marvelous jewelry that she found at the ‘Nu-to-Yu’. i tell her she’d be great on tv.
they operate. i hear them sedate her, blood-curdling, like my first cat sedated by the needle that the vet smashed into her back while i was holding her
back at the lake, the glass men are there, sizing, measuring. they have cleaned the living room & balcony. i get down on my knees & pray.
no. i vacuum the glass they missed, for a half hour. “look” says one glass man. “i can lay down in it & nothing happens.” wee shards in my knees.
the blood comes out of the hardwood with water. out of the balcony with Fantastic. out of the towels with cold water.
as i have been writing this, a dog has been barking two houses away.
ps lulu, jannie’s sister, died last month on her and her twin luke’s birthday, which was mine, my twin’s, and our sister’s
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