DEAD PETS

by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

I have been
on the wrong
medicine
for two months.
All winter
long I was
suffering
intensely
from voices
of dead pets
and visions
of their deaths.
My first dog
buried out
back under
the pepper
tree whispered
into my
ears. I saw
it being
crushed under
the wheels of
a neighbor.
Its limp and
bloody head
spoke to me,
Please save me.
The white cat
who slept on
our porch for
years, died of
old age. I
hear it at
night purring
and talking
with the voice
of a girl
whispering,
Please join me.
Die with me.