I buy the dog a ball that lights. Sometimes she likes to chase
after twilight. I cannot see her on these after-dark runs.
Just a loping, floating egg, iridescent. To her, I have commitment
issues. And sure. She isn’t wrong. I give and take, throw
and receive. As an experiment, I use a dirty tennis ball
one night. It bounces into the underbrush, but she finds it
on the first go. Can she see better in darkness? When I used
to think about killing myself, it was always at night. I imagine
that’s normal. Once, doing laundry at nine p.m., I thought hard
about throwing myself down a tall flight of concrete stairs.
I didn’t. The reason isn’t important. It was too domestic, all
that sensitive detergent and OxiClean. When we walk back inside,
the dog takes the stairs three at a time, one large jump; I love her for this.
I love that I’m here to see it. I love that, in another dimension, I’m not.