My dog died on a Friday in December, soul flickering
out like a string of holiday lights. I watched her breath
leave her body, chest dipping into rib, eyes widening
against death and whatever happens next.
Where did you go? I whisper into black fur.
A body is just a body unless it holds the one you love.
Why house the soul in such fragile, broken things?
It was always going to end this way.
My dog was born on a Wednesday, soul shiny as a penny
in the sunlight. I watched her breathe new life
into stale summer air. I knew then
that her death would kill me.
I understood the price
of love. I held my breath.
I did it anyway.

---

Jillian is the author of the upcoming poetry collection, SET THE BONE, published by Arcana Poetry Press. She was selected as an Honorable Mention for the 2025 Jack McCarthy Book Prize and short-listed for the 2026 Central Avenue Poetry Prize. She has been nominated for several awards, including 2025 Best of Net and the 2025 Pushcart Prize. Her poetry has been featured in several literary magazines and anthologies. Find her online @jillianstacia to read more of her work.