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.
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