Killing My Family's Dog

From Sharon Olds

'Killing My Sister's Fish

I picked up the bottle with its gladiator shoulders-
inside its shirred, greyish plastic
ammonia, more muscular than water, pungent-
I poured one dollop, gleaming genie,
into the bowl with my sister's goldfish'
...





Killing My Family's Dog


I picked up our dog with her crippled legs -
inside her knees, ripped shredded
muscles, more cellular mush than organs.
I drove four miles, both whimpering and wagging,
to the vet with my family's dog
because she was dying and my mother wouldn't take her.
We were put in a room, next to a metal bed,
a wooden bench, and a scale when
her bladder released a pool of blood
that spread into the grout of the floor.
I pulled her by my side,
leaned her against my leg, and pat
on the nape of her neck, like I did at home.
I filled with hope when I saw the doctor,
his crinkled papers, in my head a cure.
Then I sobered up
woke up into the diagnosed cancer.

I left her.
I left her at the end of her life, as if without
love. As if the needles sleep was only temporary
and I would take her back,
take her home.