July 26, 2016


Don’t write about it. If you give it
words, you make it real, haul it by
the scruff out of the shadows, slap
a collar on it, assign it a name. Don’t
build a house for it in your backyard
or let it feed off the scraps from your
table. Don’t show it to the kids. If
it scratches at the door, ignore it.
If it hops over the fence, chase it off
to the neighbors. If it sits beneath
your bedroom and howls at the
moon—so deep you feel it baying
down the alley of your throat—
shut the window and close the
curtains. Don’t let it in.

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