I am alone in the middle of the garage, screwdriver

in hand, tissues

covering my feet,

disassembling his kennel

because it doesn’t make sense to keep it there and

even if I don’t sell it, another could certainly use it

so I might just donate it.

I slowly take out each screw and wonder

what it is I’m doing and if maybe

I should stop because        maybe

he’ll come back and          maybe

it’s just a red herring

and this is all a great lesson about

companionship.

But I don’t stop because

all four walls collapse

and timber covers blackened blankets and

the screwdriver joins the tissues on the floor

and I learn that you can cry so hard your head hurts and

no amount of Panadol or Nurofen can stop it–

so I just sit beside the taken apart kennel and remember

some time ago it wouldn’t make sense for me to ever own a kennel

because Levi didn’t exist, and

that past is just like my present

     so if I’ve lived this all before       

why am I still crying so hard that my head hurts?