I turn it up loud,
louder, to mask

the chain saw’s
cough and steady

whine, the noise
of the workmen

hollering, the dull
thuds when one

throws down a chunk
of trunk or limb.

What do we do,
living in this

world—my neighbor
who fears the oak

will fall, crush
his boy where he lies

sleeping. I didn’t
make the world

of chain-link fence,
bark collar, leash,

bite of the chainsaw,
the woman on the news

who crept out on ice
to rescue her dog,

then fell through,
scrabbling for a way

out. I, too, wanted silence—
look at me using a melodic

impromptu to hide
horror, kick and bite

of the saw, the dog’s
jerk to get away

from the jolt
of what they call

“the correction,” and yes,
I think she called

for help, woman who
had laughed at work

with kids on the blacktop
playground (they talked

to one boy on the news).
I am not as immune

from pain as I try
to pretend, my chest

felt sore and I touched
Josie’s fur, looking in her

eyes, seeing another
creature trying to breathe,

to play with a ball,
or lie in peace on the rug

when the sun streaks in,
promising to last.

The workmen will grind
the stump when they

finish, and the boy sleeps
on. The woman’s dog

scrambled off the ice,
safely, and ran home,

that’s how her family
knew to go looking. They sail

another chunk down using
a pulley, thud, ground trembles,

goes still. They found
her body there, shards

broken around the hole.
The children said she

played with them every
day at recess. Even now

Josie’s learning not
to bark, just one soft

one to sound an alarm,
then she stops.