Suddenly, a bang
fired, astray in the air
just after eight pm,
when the church bell
tolled for prayers
invoking the restless
dead in purgatory,
my mother halted
her litany of all saints
to uncover, check,
count our bodies still
on the palm mat-
covered wooden floor
cold in August;
I quickly got up
to look for tan Olive
that did not howl,
its usual noise after
a loud gunshot
echoing for a while
as if to remind,
our dog lying
down on the corner
where I placed
a bowl of sour soup,
under its belly
the puppies lining up
for warm licks.