UnWrapped

Under the strewn striped socks

pulled inside out with sweaty anxiety

Muddy barn boots,

caked with dried up yesterdays reach

Rainbow wrappers of mindless sucking

on starbursts in the corners

of teenage rage,

The shiny red plaid Christmas present

with metallic green, larger than life bow

Sits, unopened,

in her room off the kitchen

Across from the crispy wilted tree

she refuses to take out to compost

New sheets, crisp and folded

Wait eagerly inside,

since Christmas went sideways

As if the present holds air in the room

The Christmas room

where our dog doesn’t die

Where the cinnamon rolls get baked

Where the frittata isn’t forgotten in oven

Where the stockings spill out the Joy

Where we gather around the festive table

Instead of the linoleum floor

of the vet hospital,

signing forms for cremation

Where we say hello

to the coming new year

with expectant hope

And not goodbye to our beloved dog

with shocking grief

The present sits still

wrapped in her room

As if when she opens it

the air will let out, forever lost,

And the Christmas lost

And the dog lost

Will never be retrieved,

The air will let out

like the final exhale of a life

Before the full inhale

of grief, unwrapped