Lee Ann Pingel

Old Dogs

Calls and more calls. Doctors and more doctors. The sister, the close one, bedside. This time, the time before, the time before. The other sister, the distant one, on the line, on the fence. No, no, they say, no need, it's so much, you know, so far away. She imagines herself insisting, boarding, arriving; hears herself say, All right then. If you're sure. She takes a slow breath, moves to the window. Places one hand against the pane.

Family, that old dog,
struggles up, turns a circle,
settles again in the same tight curl.