By Cleveland Wall
First snow, no dog. First dog I ever loved died Tuesday morning. I had to go to work anyhow, stuff the hard lump of sad into a tight compartment behind the file vaults. No dogs allowed. My dog was a past master at all the doggy pursuits—the bunny chase, the bacon snarfle, the nuzzling into the exact center of the tent. And first snow was never old hat; no, it was miraculous every single time. Late morning someone sneezed and it sounded like a dog barking. And again. It couldn’t be, but I had to ask: Is there a dog here? No. There is no dog. Only snow.
Cleveland Wall is a poet, editor, and teaching artist in Bethlehem, PA. She is one half of the poetry/guitar duo The Starry Eyes, a founding member of the poetry improv group No River Twice, and cohost of Tuesday Muse, a monthly performance series. Her first book, Let X=X, is available from Kelsay Books.
