I&rsquo;ve forgotten all my songs. The garden
rows like swamped in ruins. Dust
in gates, mesh wire swinging. We&rsquo;d
cling to ours if we&rsquo;d only known.
She thought this to herself before bed

every night for a week.



* * *



two
dead things

when
did you become
so lonely?

one thing could
fit inside
the other: mouse, bird-
wing. glossy black
tail to feather

because I am
afraid of breaking
things

wick quick
to flame

everywhere
there is water
water

a body in the hand
(seed spread
through secret
channels)

every time
someone is kind
to me I feel
like breaking



* * *



It was about forgetting and hurt feelings &amp; beginnings. We worked in rows, our arms swinging back and forth, the needle hemming slow and long, the stitch singing. When I closed my eyes she sings a song. She is my twin scissor. We swing and twitch the tune, the lungs brimming. At first it felt like all I ever wanted was a hug, and a lung. But now the burning coils of plastic unspool the glossed rots of synthetic hair and combs, watering cans, and crimson boots. All these others out there&mdash;out here&mdash; hand to hand we almost touch. No matter how we look at it&mdash;we are either all together or else we are all alone.

from “Fur Birds”

Don&rsquo;t forget about me. I am your good girl.
I&rsquo;ve only been dead
all summer.
I only sleep when the sunlight weighs
more than the skin of every living thing.
The doorlight knocks, breaks open the clock-light
clicking apart broken things, a tumble of stairs
flowing down into a chamber. My brain&rsquo;s awide
yawning. The fog comes feral like a soft heart
into my rib-brain. I call it a net. I am a good girl.
Now you be a good hunter.

Michelle Detorie

from “Fur Birds”

Witch Dog

Michelle Detorie

Reconsidering Humanity & Interspecies Communication

Our Dogs

from “Fur Birds”

Witch Dog