i pick small objects from my dog's mouth:

a paperclip, a thumb tac, a knot of hair.
i reach between small white teeth and 
underneath her tongue. i wonder about
her desire to eat small dangerous things.
i crawl on all fours with her & we walk out
early in the morning while the sun 
in blue & orange
& the sounds of doors closing
echo in the distance. how will i teach her
how to use a mouth when i haven't mastered 
my own? i kiss a window. i eat a 
knob. i swallow a few earrings. 
i tell her that it's hard 
for creatures like us.
that we crave what does not belong 
in our jaws. 
as she walks she presses her nose
to the ground & the ground is so gentle
& it allows her inspection. 
grass damp in the morning.
it is almost october & soon we will lick frost
off our fingernails. 
i tell her i am sorry 
for being demanding. for asking 
that she listen more than an animal 
is capable. i once told Jack about my fear
of sleeping through a whole day. he laughed.
this morning i am tired & i want to 
eat wads of hair 
& have a larger animal 
pull each strand out from between my teeth 
telling me that i need to survive. 
i want that kind of protection. Benny was pacing
last night with a thumb tac in between her teeth 
& she set it on the counter. i played with the tac 
between my fingers 
before placing it in the drawer.
my dog begs for sharp objects & she wants
to chew on cigarette filters & i want 
to gnaw them with her. sometimes i wonder
what would happen if i just let her 
do whatever she desired. let her eat 
the trinkets of garbage. what does 
she want with them? she falls asleep again
& i bite down on a tac to show her 
how to hold it without cutting 
your gums.