A Dog Named Lily

By Nancy Beauregard

Issue 49 • Spring 2024 • Poetry

Second place winner in the Spring 2024 Contest Issue judged by Shayla Lawson

When they threw you from their car into the extreme heat,
cacti, agave, a desert of blue skies full of jumping jackalope,
flying quail, shapes of cumulus, you tried to follow tire tracks,
but were soon distracted by the chase of blue-bellies sunning
on rocks. All afternoon you ran until your paws were torn,
sore, blisters cracking. Thirsty, hungry, you ate the poison
humans offer coyotes. When we adopted you, we didn’t know
you were sick, no one knew. We mixed fragrant herbs, juniper,
warm sudsy water, used tweezers to pull out fox tails, washed
and brushed your fur until it gleamed white. The blaze, lit fuse
from toxins underneath skin was unsuspected. We took you
everywhere, rides in the car, out to dinners on courtyard patios.
You liked to stop and smell the aster, sunflowers, daisies on
our walks along the arroyo. You pranced in the kitchen, husky
talked when it was time for breakfast. When you had the first
seizure— falling to the floor in spasms, we gave you soft towels
to bite on, held you tight, told you how much we loved you,
wiped the foam from your mouth until the temporary blindness
subsided. When medicine failed, when you seized six times a day,
when the doctor said the poison had seeped into your brain, there
was nothing else she could do, we lay with you on the floor at the
hospital, and when you asked, then asked again, waited patiently,
put your head in my daughter’s lap, we let you go, watched your
eyes stare into ours, slowly fade from crystal blue to solid black
as you left to chase tumbleweeds and those blue-bellies sunning
on desert rocks.

Contest Judge Shayla Lawson on “A Dog Named Lily”
In this beautiful elegy, the poet takes on the emotional journey of releasing a beloved to death through sensuous scenic detail juxtaposed against the sterile, systemic shock of a hard death. The poet’s ability to bear witness to both the pastoral landscape just as strongly as they render the cold fluorescence of Lily’s final moments brings new life to the oft-written tragedy of saying goodbye to a faithful canine.

Nancy Beauregard

Nancy Beauregard, MFA, is a legally blind poet from the high desert of New Mexico. She teaches Creative Writing to incarcerated students through correspondence whilst exploring nature and disability in her own poetry. Beauregard’s works have appeared in several publications including Sky Island Journal, The MacGuffin, The Santa Fe Literary Review, and The Normal School among others, as well as in her chapbook, I Heard a Train. Her most recent achievement is First Place National Winner in the Joe Gouveia Outermost Poetry Contest 2024. Find her on Instagram @murderedinanovel.

Carolyn Guinzio

A poet and photographer, Carolyn Guinzio’s most recent collection is A Vertigo Book (The Word Works, 2021), winner of the Tenth Gate Prize and the Foreword Indies Award for poetry book of the year. She lives in Fayetteville, AR, and can be found online at carolynguinzio.tumblr.com.