Two grown men are penning dog in the yard to hose her bloody ass. She hid after the birth, soaking in her own blood and now God has maggots.
1.
Love within, Love unseen. Love divine Love all mine. Love that’s true, Love that’s new. Love that’s real, Love hard to feel. Love yourself! Love is wealth. Love that’s magic, Love’s not tragic. Love is hopeful. Love is full. Love abundant, Love not redundant. Love’s a promise... Love is all this! Love is... me, Love - all I need to be!
2.
And so I feel it, coming on, The energy around me! Sparks of love for art, Curiosity, of being free. To roam the world, to meet, Those we had never talked to. This is the magic of new days, Building bridges to something new. Discovering beauty of existing, Of breathing in and letting go. Not worried ‘bout the highs and lows we ride. For chains will rust, and breaks can loosen. But gravity - won’t let you go. Like memories of past, worries of the future. They are just ghosts who haunt. Individuals who are not present in the moment. To feed off life’s energy. No, they are spent. From stories tearing them apart, From daggers entering their heart, And people walking out and in of their lives, Placing shadows on the real, on the magic they fail to feel. And the beauty that’s inside them. Their selves, the world around. For in the now is when we’re happy.
We spray her with the hose to try to get them off but they’ve burrowed into her skin. We are on a mission to save God and her children. She looks like a wolf, rescued as an abused puppy in the alley. If she gets a toy, a sock-- let her have it. We wrap her in a blanket and rush her into the back of the car to the allnight animal clinic. They assess which nurses can handle her case. Some say no to vomit, diarrhea, some to maggots. Who will treat God? Back home, we’ve set up a box, with a ticking clock and hot water bottle wrapped in flannel. God’s children are blind, as they squirm on top of one another and towards false mother.
Sacred Bitch
by Maiga Milbourne
The separation has to continue. The bitch is on hard drugs. She can’t breast-feed her young. We bottle feed the children while they suck air, endlessly distressed. We change the bottle to find heat, to substitute for the warmth of the living. In a another room, stalking, gnashing teeth, the dog angrily heals. We fool her into accepting medicine through rare meats. I am scared of her. I am scared to be the boundary between her and her young.
1. & 2.
by Hokuma Karimova
14
Eventually, God’s raw ass scars and heals. Her prescription runs out and we stage a reunion, God and her children. God never trusts us again.
15