The first thing I noticed about her
Was the look of determination on her face. She came back for the dog,
Cold, in the grave three days now.
Coming home from vacation,
Discovering, her beloved “Shelly.”
Was dead and buried on my farm.
I watched with horrid fascination,
Unable look away as she started to dig.
Like Lazarus rising from the grave
Shelly was raised again, only
Shelly didn’t come back to life,
She rode in the trunk of the car
Wrapped in a blanket caked with dirt.
Not a word was said,
I remember now that,
This was the beginning,
Of the end of our friendship,
Dawn DeBraal lives in rural Wisconsin with her husband, two rat terriers and a cat. Recently retired, she has discovered her love of telling a good story can be written. Her works have been published in Mercurial Stories, Spillwords, Cafelit, Blood Song Books, Black Hare Press, Edify Fiction and others.