The Last Hour We Lost
Anyone I’ve ever bought a thing from is reminding me
to reset my clocks, as if losing one hour
will somehow prompt me to buy new shoes
or a new house or to dine out. Honestly,
anything is possible right now. Last night
I dreamt that fox squirrels kidnapped my dog.
They were set free by the city.
A new attraction. They swung out from
a shrubby tunnel and led her by the collar.
I was left with the untethered leash,
a pink nylon cord swinging from my hand.
An open vein. A strip of flesh. The wound
when she leaves us will be like that.
I look for her when I wake up and panic.
But I remember. She won’t climb the stairs anymore.
Her nails on the wood floors, her hips
losing muscle the way we all lose something as we age.
I drag my own tired weight out of bed
and down the stairs where she greets me.
She rests her head against my knees,
her tail wags gently. I don't want this day to begin,
but I remembered to reset the coffee pot.
The carafe already full and steaming,
I lay out the dog’s pills
and pour myself a cup.
to reset my clocks, as if losing one hour
will somehow prompt me to buy new shoes
or a new house or to dine out. Honestly,
anything is possible right now. Last night
I dreamt that fox squirrels kidnapped my dog.
They were set free by the city.
A new attraction. They swung out from
a shrubby tunnel and led her by the collar.
I was left with the untethered leash,
a pink nylon cord swinging from my hand.
An open vein. A strip of flesh. The wound
when she leaves us will be like that.
I look for her when I wake up and panic.
But I remember. She won’t climb the stairs anymore.
Her nails on the wood floors, her hips
losing muscle the way we all lose something as we age.
I drag my own tired weight out of bed
and down the stairs where she greets me.
She rests her head against my knees,
her tail wags gently. I don't want this day to begin,
but I remembered to reset the coffee pot.
The carafe already full and steaming,
I lay out the dog’s pills
and pour myself a cup.
May / June 2023
Elizabeth Joy Levinson is a high school teacher in Chicago. Her work has been published in Whale Road Review, SWWIM, Cobra Milk, Anti-Heroin Chic, and others. The author of two chapbooks, As Wild Animals (Dancing Girl Press) and Running Aground (Finishing Line Press), her first full length collection, Uncomfortable Ecologies, will be published in the fall of 2023 (Unsolicited Press).