Content Warning: animal death
What My Dying Sister Believed, Then Didn’t
The farmer yanks our dog,
shot dead for killing his chickens,
from his tractor bed,
thumps her onto the porch floor.
I’ll bury her in that damned hole
you three dug our father says.
I finger blood-crusted fur,
long for my sister’s comfort.
But she won’t come out
to say goodbye, tells me
That’s just her body.
Sally’s already in heaven.
Years later—married, converted—
she speaks of Sheol, the Hebrew
house of the dead. There’s no heaven
she tells me now.
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