when you told me about dead dog creek i didn’t quite believe you. i didn’t believe the bit about the dog and i didn’t really believe there was a creek but we walked away from the trail and you showed me the creek and even though there was no dog i began to believe every word you said. i told you i felt like a stranger here, everywhere. we found a dead owl. i felt dumb because i wanted to hold your hand. the owl was perfectly dead like it was sleeping and i wondered what happened to the dog’s body after you found it and i pictured a time-lapsed video in my head where the dog quickly disappeared and turned into water. of course there was blood and bloat and bugs but i was relieved at the end of the video that nothing was left except dirty creek water and a weathered collar. i didn’t think these things about the owl, i wanted to look at it and look at it. the day was sunny and the trail went on and on. i still feel like a stranger here, everywhere.
dead dog creek
courtney marie is a writer and artist based in Denton, Texas. she enjoys working with text as an art medium and performance object. she is the co-founder and director of Spiderweb Salon, a Denton-based literary, performance, and artist collective now six years running. As a recent finalist for the Lorien Prize, courtney marie’s first chapbook, don’t get your hopes up, was recently released in a joint chapbook through Thoughtcrime Press with her dear moonsister Fatima-Ayan Malika Hirsi. she lives with two cats and writes a lot of letters.
photo credit: Dallas-based photographer Leah Jones