Foxes: Eulogy for a Dog

Was I sleeping, while the others suffered? Am I sleeping now? Tomorrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of today
— Samuel Beckett

FOXES: Eulogy for a Dog

by Mari A. Gomez

I once told words to ‘shut the fuck up.’ Then I kept talking. That’s how mortal this whole affair is.

First impressions in watercolor. The city’s dirty little secret, a place where the lives of animals are reduced to probability. The word shelter is inapt.

I had this desire to take a life and grow it and in that locked labyrinth of discarded lives, I understood it is I who is on Pause. 


You had a little swagger, like you already knew the world had screwed you over and you were pissed. The other dogs in their white rooms looked through glass at passing shadows waiting to be taken or erased.

A hundred dogs died in that sentence. 


Language is cruel that way. Your dying in these words right now. (Or living, depending on how you look at it)

The lives of those animals skipped tracks, all scratched up. The outtakes. Badly recorded songs we’re too busy to listen to. Listening would remind us of ourselves and we’re not ready for that, so they are silenced.


Your collapsing tunnel eyes are a result of human interference. Otherwise, you’d roam the earth.

Nate, maybe you chose me, though time was already leaving you. A moon inside your stomach, red clouds in your eyes.I picked you up in a small box. This was your paradise young kid because you were dead when you arrived. Invisible piranhas invaded your blood stream and your lungs filled with the ages.

You came home to a world in color. You wrestled with Samuel Beckett, who watched you tenderly knowing, perhaps, in his animal way that you were already going. Beckett would say something similar.

"That’s how it is, on this bitch of an earth."

Goddamn words are the worst whores of them all.

We couldn’t see then the sun was already eating it’s way through your skin, that spiders followed you, and red ants circled you on the grass. We couldn’t see that crows waited on the wire, that vultures lurked behind the house, or that worms aroused when you lay in the dirt. A ghost existence, but you lived more than any of us ever have in pure joy. 


Show me how you live so wisely.

You twitched from the universe’s madness and it came in one revolution at a time. The magnetism of planets on bones too fragile for their own soul. It all began with a clash of two things. That’s how a chord is made. A union forced by nature. The song was playing the whole time.
That’s where I find you now, a soft sound. 

Press Record. 


Saturn returned for its missing links and that moon collapsed your skeleton.Then you couldn’t walk. The spinning plates were too much. At dawn, when you awoke, I’d carry you in my arms and we’d walk through the pecan trees. You roamed paradise, if ever slowly. Our hearts so close, trying to accompany each other, but yours was on a different beat already. Wait, I said, we can still make music. And we tried, but the pulse of centuries was too strong.It had taken you to make you part of everything that has been, like Richard III, John F.Kennedy, or the young boy that crashed his motorcycle on a dark dirt road, the grandmother who went in her sleep, the moth you killed by accident. 

This is eternity recording itself. 

Press Pause. 

Not everything is controlled by time. 

In my arms we walked the incoming season, you sniffed at the leaves and pecans. You looked up at the working universe. I didn’t know that by holding you higher I allowed the stars to spot you quicker. Oh you filthy universe. The sky came down and snatched you from my arms, into the stuff of mornings, the mud of darkness, a lonely constellation invisible to city eyes.
 This broken boy soldier life of an animal. Tiny moon lost from orbit on loose rails whiplashed across space/time until my arms collapsed on themselves and I held nothing. 

Press Play.

Until the last moment your tail wagged when you heard us call your name, when we pet you on the belly. You stumbled out in your weakness, showing us that you had learned to go potty outside. 
Because dignity is everything. 


Your head the tail to your comet. Then, in one last moment you dragged yourself out and looked to the mountain range in the collapsing distance, you saw the pecan trees as they stretch for summer, you saw the grass that had welcomed you and the orange toy fox you chewed on. You saw your paradise for the last time. You saw Beckett and wished him well. 

I took your death and became your life.  I’ll show you everything, even the worst of what we are.Innocence always wants to live. 

I tried to press stop, but it was already going.

This tiny bug of a life, a skip on the main track, an unintended silence that ruins the whole rhythm.The moon split open your rib cage. Life is a harmonica. It’s really quite simple to learn, but difficult to make beautiful.
 
Press Play. 

That I can remember. Your body kept trying to grow, oh how you wanted to live despite the written history. If I had any real courage I would shoot words in the heart and tell them to make more music. I would tell them to leave me alone because they can’t be trusted. I would tell them to help me.

This was all an odd time signature and I’m quite angry at the ruptured rhythm and selfish planets and time’s tendency to blur and go quiet.

Oh this world stays while you are stopped it revolves keeps going leaves you and leaves you again and love is a memory that happened only once but life is the fight to recreate it we spit out our hearts along the path illuminated with dragon fly light and then to get it back in your chest is a real task I found your moon in the dirt along the river walk weeds growing on it and ants feasting on its surface collapsed but still glowing can I hide in your light oh please can I hide

 

R.I.P Nate

 

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