MERIE KIRBY

When we pack up this old planet

We’ll have to downsize. We can’t take everything.
I don’t believe even a mythical ark had room
 
for two of every animal, but maybe
if we are only packing DNA we can bring
 
everyone along. I’m optimistic
about the digital capacity of our ship – novels, landscapes,
 
symphonies, all our monsters, everything –
as long as there is power.
 
Dogs might once more blast beyond atmosphere,
this time to give us something alive and warm and
 
generous to talk to in the endless night.
Last night I chastised my dog for trying
 
to lick the sore spot on his leg. It was late.
It was dark. We were the only two awake,
 
on the couch in a pool of light, sharing a patchwork quilt.
Worrying at a sore spot in my memory
 
brought me downstairs and he followed.
How could I leave him behind?

Merie Kirby grew up in California and now lives in North Dakota. She teaches at the University of North Dakota. She is the author of two chapbooks, The Dog Runs On and The Thumbelina Poems. Her poems have been published in Mom Egg Review, Whale Road Review, SWWIM, FERAL, Strange Horizons, and other journals. You can find her online at www.meriekirby.com.