by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Nearly every night
Juno wakes me
With eerie sounds,
sounds that are crying,
tormented
from deep dreams.
She came to our gate
eleven years ago, starving,
having recently had puppies.
After feeding her for days,
she never tried to go back
to them,
so I thought they were dead,
or taken from her.
I go to her in the night,
comforting her,
telling her she is now safe,
telling her
humans are both tormentors
and saviors.
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