What the Wind Leaves Behind

by Claudia Stanek

The kennel remains, impatient and empty,

its dog runs three feet above the ground,

white-painted two-by-twos the framework

holding wire even puppies’ paws

couldn’t fall through. Father and daughter

bring the wind with us as we collide, mini-bike

to kennel, but the runs stand, unchanged

other than by requisite bits of our blood and skin.

Wounds close and seasons peel

the kennel’s paint as litter after litter of puppies

are peeled from their mother, for a price.

Sun blisters all that has gone untended

and vacant cages sway when blizzard winds ride in.

Miles away, Dad’s banged-up body decays,

enclosed below the storms, me left

to tear down the ruins of what we had kenneled.