Sydney MacGilvray
the dog I am caring for has a stomachache
. (I stroke her side soft as a mother
. as she gnaws sleepily at the carpet)
streetlamps melt horizontal into a buttery haze
. (the blackness above made grey and dusty
. by the trees smoothed inky into the sky)
on the way home the shadow of my hand quivers,
huge, tentative, caressing the street
. (before folding away silken
. into the echoes of faraway cars)
. (what more dog than a dog,
. more black than a tree,
. more soft than a night)
Sydney MacGilvray is a second-year from Columbus, Ohio studying theatre and Spanish. She loves storytelling through plays, prose, and song and spending way too many dining dollars on iced drinks.
