All day I've thrashed in bed, pinned like a butterfly to my dreams. When I rise, darkness has fallen. The dog whines and looks at the doorknob plaintively: She needs to pee. She darts through the door and out of sight's range, her orange coat blending with the leaves. I follow. The air cuts through my clothes. The dog scents for deer, tracing them behind a pine. Above the black silhouette of conifers, a crescent moon shines, white as a kitten's tooth. Thank the gods for dogs with full bladders. For the first time today, I'm glad to be alive.
Mary Ann Honaker is the author of Becoming Persephone (Third Lung Press, 2019). She currently lives in Beaver, West Virginia. Find Mary Ann on Twitter @MaryAnnHonaker1.