NaPoWriMo Day 21

 

Anon

 

She had a dog exactly like

a sealion, sleek dark in the water

and sometimes, she called it in,

but it never came back. Sky punctured by stars.

 

I haven't seen her since; these hundred years,

apart from once, cold calling, I rang her number

and she answered as a different woman:

I'd know you anywhere, I said, and asked.

 

On the wall of the gallery, Perseus swings

his heavy, mythological sword- Andromeda,

impassive, is also the monster,

ink blue, iridescent.

 

When I called her that last time,

she never answered any of my questions,

not a one, not even her name.

The animal swims on, to the deepest constellations.