CHLOE SHANNON WONG:
Elegy for Space Dog
Days before Laika the space dog died in orbit, a Sputnik II scientist took her home to play with his children. “I wanted to do something nice for her,” he later wrote. “She had so little time left to live.”
I.
Yesterday, Laika, / winter stumbled in / sickly blue breath / refiring memories / of Papa bringing you home / when I laid out a calfskin / & Moscow spit / its winds through the gate / rapidly decaying / our meat & Papa’s grin / which you devoured with grace / so well-trained, we agreed / & my fingers pinned / your ears into funny shapes / clasped your face like a map / while priests sang outside / I led you to the kitchen / & taught you to chase / your cropped, beaten tail / we ran circles together / girl & hellion / until some nasty orbit / punched at our rumps / & we collapsed on the calfskin / while Papa flicked through / a file of confidentiality / reminding me that / all this was impermanence / but I could only hear / your dog heart & eyelids / twitching / in tandem / with my own.
II.
Come dawn, Laika, / Papa moved softly / he bore you from the calfskin / fattened for slaughter / after, he swore / the slaughter had been good / that you witnessed more / than most mongrels / saw many stars / & multitudes / like Mother Russia’s generous hips / hills swinging through astral skies / upon touchdown / the doctors laced / her euthanasia with candy floss / I did not realize how Papa’s spinal / cord hooked forward / with the lie / though now I know / what lying is / & I realize you died of shuttle fever / by the sun-streaked capsule window / little dog veins jump-squeeze-throbbing / 110 miles per hour / writing this / should not feel surprising / (street rat has never been a synonym for god.)
III.
By rights, Laika / your blackened bones cannot be / the moon’s waning crescent / holy dust or / a patriotic metaphor / stamped into the sky / somehow, though / you’ve still been folklored / into First Astronaut / your face on sculptures & this coin / which I tongue the copper back of / it tastes like spoiled pear, Laika, / & mud dried in coiled fur / see, I believe / one day they’ll forge / a new system in your honor / Laika City or Laika Church / & even then / I will still be thinking / of Papa bringing you home / of your ears pinned into funny shapes / circles / our consciences spilling on the calfskin / how your teeth kissed at / my cupid’s bow / then licked the red away / in apology / Laika, your jawbone was never recovered /
which means my girl’s blood burnt up with you.
Chloe Shannon Wong is a junior at Arcadia High School in Arcadia, California. The winner of the Poetry Society of America’s 2023 Louise Louis/Emily F. Bourne Student Poetry Award, her work has also been nationally recognized by The National YoungArts Foundation, The Alliance for Young Artists & Writers, The New York Times, Hollins University, and more. She is an alumna of the Iowa Young Writers’ Studio and the Kenyon Review Young Writers Workshop, and will be part of the Adroit Journal’s 2023 Summer Mentorship cohort. In her free time, she loves spending time with Rusty and Lily, her pet cats.