There in the dust was a squeaky toy that my cousin’s dog left in my cousin’s house. Then there was the fire. The house was an envelope that contained the squeaky toy and it folded, and folded again, until it was a tiny origami boat cradling the squeaky toy. The squeaky toy was yellow. It might have been a
banana, or a lemon, or Sponge Bob. The drippy edges cooled outward into a sun god logo now and I picked it up. “Baby,” I called for the dog, “Baby.” I heard a whine. I grabbed the toy and squeezed it hard. It still squeaked. It still called her home.