They said take something of hers, something soft.

I couldn’t. Everything I landed on

too painful to bear away from that house.

But here you are—her blanket hefted in

my child’s thin arms, now settled on my couch.

During the daylight hours the dog burrows

deep in your folds, and each night, cocooning

herself inside your heaviness, my girl

trails her fingers along your edges, sniffs

for a certain perfume she hopes you’ve trapped.

I take slow swigs from the Maker’s Mark, eye

you suspiciously from my corner post.

Egyptians once buried their dead with all

their goods. Gladly I’d have placed the last stone.

Leona Sevick is the Press 53 Award for Poetry winner for her first full-length book of poems, Lion Brothers. Her work appears in Orion, Birmingham Poetry Review, Blackbird, and the Southern Review. She was a 2019 Walter E. Dakin Fellow for the Sewanee Writers’ Conference. She serves as advisory board member of the Furious Flower Black Poetry Center and is Professor of English at Bridgewater College in Virginia, where she teaches Asian American literature.