C A N D I C E K E L S E Y
I held my mother’s hand as we walked – two expatriates running errands through Stanley Market south of the Carmelite Monastery between Chung Hom Kok and Tung Tau Wan Ferries stretched like tendons over the South China Sea but that day our task was the meat market. We hoped the butcher could supply us with marrowy-treats for our dogs recently recovering from a two-day flight in a spine-cold cargo belly
We asked for dog bones
The ruddy kraft-pulp paper hugged the bones of dogs that rattled like ripe nuts in their shells while we made our way back to the station-wagon to our dogs waiting glossy anatomical posters on exam room walls the dogs did not expect another dog’s bones: And like the opening scene in the director’s cut of Amadeus (ballroom dancing intercut with bloody Salieri) we met horror entering a cavern of guttural howls ferrying our good intentions far from dogs that will not gnaw their own.
Today I hold my daughter’s hand as we walk our Dog Town hill to Marine Market for a popsicle and a California pinot where an aria of jimson weed petals our path – pendulous fragrant toothwhite trumpets – shocking
Like the cremated remains of a family dog
Like the remains of a family
Like a memory.
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