In consideration of stray - poem

April 8, 1995

Their bold hearts muscle them

toward the sound of your boots

then back, barking. It is dark.

Streets sink into the hillside

in sequence, this corner the dog

is a collie, the next a mongrel

spotted brown and white, waiting.

The next thing is not ordered,

the shots bring back stunned,

inescapable noise. It is this easy.

The dogs that are not dead

are trying to stand, and howling.

For hours before light they lie there,

150 dogs, dead or dying in Hebron.

You return to camp, put away

your rifle, replace your boots at the foot

of your bed. Your hands shake.

Outside dawn breaks

the curfew, the market stirs the air

and the scuffling sounds of small boys

drag dogs from the street.

Susan Hutton grew up in Detroit and has an MFA from the University of Michigan. She recently completed a Stegner Fellowship at Stanford University, and she now lives in Seattle.

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