Cheryl Moskowitz

Dog, Vixen, Vermin, Pest

Did they call you these
names at home? Were you
shooed from the door, kept
deliberately at a distance?

Tell me about night.
Do you grind your teeth
bite holes in your cheek
savor the taste of blood on your tongue?

When I sleep I sleep with my tail tucked tight between my thighs

Lying on the ground
does it comfort or
disgust you? Can you
sense yourself in the scent of others?

Breathe so I can hear.
Is closeness something
you are consumed by
or only what you wish to consume?

When I sing I sing from the back of my throat with my jaw closed

How do you account
for your fleshless bones?
Does such exposure
grant access to much greater feeling?

On your journey here
was there a marker
that stood out for you
something familiar you recognized?

I navigate distance by measuring the space between my ribs

Would you call yourself
alone or part of
a pack, do you move
towards or away from your own likeness?

Take a name when you
leave, to cover your
self. They’re hanging by
the door. Brother, Sister, Daughter, Son.