by Danielle Bongiovanni
For Pepper Comb your camera roll for every blurry photo, And save two backup copies. Swallow your anger at your parents For not calling you, for not thinking You could've made it home in time. Thank them for bringing you his collar. Keep it in your backpack Each time you take a hike. Swallow your anger at your friends For still having unconditional love and Soft fur to run their fingers through. Thank them for letting you cry. Reread "Dog Songs" by Mary Oliver And wish you were a better poet. Swallow your anger at yourself Because the last time you visited him it rained, So you promised you'd walk him later. Clip a leash to the love left with nowhere to go And drag it behind you like a dead dog.
About the Contributor & Piece
Danielle Bongiovanni (he/she/they) is an environmental science major with an environmental studies minor. Her work has appeared in en*gendered, Apprentice Writer, SpitPoet Zine and You Might Need To Hear This. He enjoys fantasy, horror, and local journalism.
They wrote this poem as way of dealing with their grief over the unexpected loss of their dog. Pepper was a terrier mix who played hard and loved harder, and he will be missed by all of the hearts he touched.