Friend, guide, and companion; our hiker extraordinaire.
I was told that my dog was still with me.
She visits often, I was told.
I would see her in butterflies.
I was also told that she still runs wild
in a garden, the one behind the house
I used to live in. The one she played in —
heads of hydrangeas scattering in alarm
as she tore through them.
Out of all the things I was told,
that is the one I remember the most,
that, and the cold weight of her body
in my arms as she died.
I miss her.
But then again, there are butterflies,
so many of them.
Anki Sinha
Walk With Me 