Dog Under The Willows

By Lydia Lim

twist the shirt, damp with saliva. 

chew it up like a dog gnawing

on a discarded bone, greyed-out, 

and hollowed. 

overhead, the willows droop, and 

weep, and drip their heavy leaves. 

cling onto

the bark, rough, and raw, 

the voice of a dog that has often

been ignored. roll over, and acquiesce. 

underneath, buried in the soil, 

is that old rubber ball

the dog used to play fetch with. 

dried out, the wind howls,

whipping shredded tatters of

the old shirt onto the waiting willows. 

By Lydia Lim