Max

yesterday my dog curled himself into the shadows of midnight
he howled something quite unusual
like the sound of my grandfather's antiquated Chevy circling the pavement
the creases of the tires embracing the concrete

"max, what is troubling you?"
his eyes, an unusual shade of gray,
were somber
something like
pale

"do you know what happens to dogs when they die, Tonya?"
i could not answer him
"they don't go to heaven as all do suppose
they are collected by the dust
and thrown into the earth
it is a marriage of flesh to dirt
what do you think of that, master?"

i could not answer him
something in his throat was trembling
like the mountains
like that night many years ago

"nothing to say to that?
figures, you human kind are all the same
take for granted the wind chimes
and the hilltops"

his eyes were larger than usual now
still pale
but large

"Tonya, before i leave this earth
to be placed back into it,
can an animal ever know what it means
to love?"

this i tried to answer
"yes, i mean, i guess so"

he chuckled

"very well then,
your mother is in the living room
tell her you are sorry
tell her why it is difficult for you
to tell her you love her
tell her that when it rains you are your most happiest
tell her that this town is too small for her
tell her that your father is a good man
tell her that Cincinnati is calling her home
tell her that the meatloaf wasn't dry
tell her that you stole from her when you were six
tell her to savor the ocean
to collect the tide
to swallow the universe
to train the galaxy
tell her everything
and nothing at all."

i buried him in our backyard
my mother whispered a prayer over his grave
we went inside for coffee
and sat on the front porch
the sun kissing our faces

and i told her