Deb Peterson

The good girl walks easy,

sure-footed on a path she knows by heart.

Her nose, a tuning fork, vibrates

at cracker crumbs on a sidewalk,

stains on a fluttering wrapper,

a soggy tidbit half-buried in slush.

Some days when she pulls hard,

the leash follows her lead.

Some days, a squirrel dashes up a tree;

in her heart, she chases it into the sky.

Nobody hopes like a dog, and nobody who has a dog for a friend can be without hope. Under the name Delaney Green, Debra Peterson writes long and short works of speculative fiction. Her short fiction has appeared online and has been published in Black Dandy; Barstow & Grand; Bouchercon 2014: Murder at the Beach; and Passages: Best of NewMyths. She has worked as a reporter, a copy editor, a professional actress, a Broadway theater concessions manager, a high school English teacher, an adjunct professor, a farm laborer, and, lately, a coronavirus mask-sewer. She writes sporadic blog posts at delaneygreenwriter.com.