came down from the hills
stealing in through a slight break
in the fence, a thoughtless day’s work
of forgetting. He slinks round the back way
looking for scraps I’ve left. Rough-furred
and bony under hand, I’d lost sight of him
in summer’s bustling seeds and furrows.
Now, as the days thin,
pared sliver by sliver at twilight’s
widening rim, I think of his warm burr
curled at my spine. I begin leaving him bowls
of empty and scraped plates of watching.
Soon, he is my sleek companion again,
his footsteps dogging mine.
About the Poet:
Shangrila Willy is a collector of words, shoes, fables, and other embroidered things. She lives in Baltimore with her lugubrious Great Dane and her husband who mucks about in brains. She has most recently been published in Pear Noir!, Rattle, and Gargoyle; and has work forthcoming in Measure, Magma, and cream city review.
About the Sound of Sugar:
We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors. We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.