They Left Me the Dog (Poem)

There is a beast in the house.

And it often sits upon the cushions, like it was purchased with the sofa, the rug, the lamp, like they sell living room sets with beasts included.

And maybe they do,

because I've seen these monsters perched on the backs of couches, or on kitchen counters, or sitting on the edges of beds, in the halls of others' kingdoms.

And I feed mine raw meat, because he demands it,

plus I fear the carnage if left to fend for himself.

And it is a baffling covenant, to sustain what would slaughter you,

and to hope after hope it will not slaughter you.

But night after night we sit together, the beast and I.

And sometimes he even follows me to bed,

to remind me one can even die in their dreams.

And so for many years, we live like this,

he and I,

and I move him,

as I move furniture from place to place,

and like a family heirloom entrusted, he resides.

I feel as though perhaps

we have always lived like this,

the beast and I.

I feel as though I have been feeding him all my life.

bvk, 2019.