Praise Him

Dog whose middle name is do good,
whose sigh is the birth of patience; dog
whose middle name is angel, offering
the blessing of his lick, his weight as guide.
Carrying is what he does best, and so he does

love the stuffed bear we call Baby and all the risk
of teeth in fur, our captured hands as we grab
the sticks of the world, where he turns
his desire to even the inferior, insignificant
breaking ones. He holds them all, as he tries

to hold the low wind’s message in his upheld nose.
He holds himself as guard, ears pricked
for the snow’s command. Ice-crystals in his lashes,
eyes narrowing at the moon travelling under the cloud,
he’ll burrow into the snow if it’s too cold,

just as he finds the girl’s side when she cries,
leaning his body against hers, finding
her eyes to hold, his the eyes of the ever-present
mother, the language of now in his hungry tongue.
He knows with what degree of whine to shade

his answering bark; has learned to soften it
to a vowel when she questions, though finally
he must lie down with the secrets he carries,
heaving his weight aside, cornered in the one life
of the dumb, the never-to-speak, full with knowing.

*Cleopatra Mathis has six books of poems, the most recent of which is White Sea, which was published by Sarabande. Mathis' first five books were published by Sheep Meadow Press. Her work has been widely published in anthologies, textbooks, magazines and journals, including: The New Yorker, Triquarterly, American Poetry Review, The Extraordinary Tide; New Poetry By American Women, And The Made Thing: An Anthology Of Southern Poetry.