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      July 17, 2019Object Lesson in Over-AttachmentHayden Saunier

      That’s me. I’m like my dog.
      My full-bred mutt this bright cold day
       
      sharp black against fresh snow,
      nose down, hyena hunched,
      ruff high and full out following
       
      the scent of fox-fox-fox
      her dash and gallop frantic
       
      for the musky funk of clever
      packed like liquid copper
      into black-tipped fur,
       
      fox-fox-fox-fox, whiff after whiff
      hard on the track, losing it,
       
      finding it, losing it, doubling back,
      disfiguring with desperate
      want and fat footpads
       
      the perfect delicate prints
      filled to the brim with deliciousness,
       
      my dog and me, how thoroughly
      we muck clean trails
      with our own needy stink.

      from #63 - Spring 2019

      Hayden Saunier

      “I live on a farm and daily walks with my dog are an unending source of education. This poem came after fresh snow when a fox was trackable—until we showed up. I saw myself so clearly in my dog’s desperation to find the scent again. How often I’ve ruined a poem by frantically working it to death. Luckily, I don’t think poems are ever lost, they just find other, better makers. They’re smart that way, like foxes.”

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