I Wonder Sometimes What It’s Like to Be One Who Stayed

The dog presses its head against my knees.
There’s sand in its nose and seeds
stuck to its fur. As long as I keep
one hand on its enormous head,
it will let me use the other
to pluck the burrs, one by one,
and pile them on the concrete step.
My cousin says, “Ignore her.
___ spoils her.” She says a name
and I’m not sure if she means her husband
or one of her brother’s big-eyed
children. So much I’ve lost track of.
I don’t know who’s angry, who’s
fucked up somehow and on the outs.
I talk to whoever talks to me.
I laugh, pet every animal, wink
at every baby. And I think they’re glad
I’m home. I think they are.