May 30, 2022·edited May 30, 2022Liked by Kaitlin Curtice


you have been all around lately

children and teachers in a school

a one year old baby shot in Pittsburgh

my (former) father-in-law, that I dearly loved and respected, gone from a heart attack days ago.

those are the deaths I can barely take in over less than a week.


It is one thing to visit someone in advance years in their sleep

or surrounded by loved ones saying goodbye.

But you, death, are a bastard when

you take the young and the young at heart.

Sometimes, you are a blessing.

Other times you bring a stench

strong enough to smell and feel

that hangs thickly among us

for us to breathe in.

Are there two of you?

If there are two,

I can work with the good one.

walking along side as others greet

(prayerfully, one day me, too)

you at the end of long life's journey.

The bad one

I abhor.

I started writing poetry

to resist

and counter.

To create is

to stand up

in the face of death

and proclaim


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Steven, I know that words aren't enough, but I am sorry for your loss. I've been writing to resist too.

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Thank you.

I suspect there are quite a few of us that resonate with writing for resistance or for life.

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So sorry for your loss!

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May 30, 2022Liked by Kaitlin Curtice


I’m living alone for ten days right now

And I’ve been thinking

“this is what it will be like when mom’s gone”

And even though I have my cats, and my books, and my friends nearby

I can understand why loneliness leads to death

It’s an unwanted kind of solitude

When someone’s gone, it is

A blank space that can never been filled in again with the right color

Because that color no longer exists

It was a ‘limited edition’

I just want to finish the picture

Before the crayon runs out

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Oh, Diane. This is achingly beautiful.

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May 30, 2022Liked by Kaitlin Curtice

Death is part of life,

but only for those of us

left here, afterward

When I think about

dying, I think about who

I will leave behind

I'm not sure if I'm

more afraid of leaving, or

being the one left

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May 30, 2022Liked by Kaitlin Curtice


I held her hand as my 93 year old mother died.

A woman who had a middle-aged husband drop

dead while shaving one morning.

A woman who had a two-year old daughter

die in a hospital of the flu.

Her own death was peaceful and timely.

And just before she breathed her last breath,

She saw something and called out in response,

"I am coming", she said, "I am coming."

I, of course don't know what she saw,

and I don't consider it proof of anything.

But it has caused me to wonder differently about

death ever since.

It has brought a peace.

I still don't lie it that my father and little sister

died tragically.

It tears my heart out when I hear and read about

the latest school shooting, and hurt even more

trying to imagine what that was life for the children

and ow their parents and siblings and friends and

all their loved ones.

And then there's death by war, poverty, abuse...

I still shutter some times when I wonder what it

means for me not to exist anymore, at least in

any way I can now understand.

I can't imagine surviving the death of those closest to me now.

Yet, I just can't get this out of my mind and, well, my heart.

My mother saw something and said, with a little smile

on her face, "I am coming..."

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May 31, 2022Liked by Kaitlin Curtice

My mother saw Jesus when she had a heart attack and family! It has given me much hope.

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This poem has given me much to consider. Thank you for sharing this story.

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We didn't talk about death.

We talked about eternal life.

Our hope in heaven after the brief existence of our time on earth.

Is the cruelty of death bypassed

in the platitudes of "They are better off?

What's wrong with creating a space where they are better off now?

Here on earth.

This doesn't have to be an either/or.

We can have a both/and.

Hope for eternal life AND a world where

eternal life doesn't come too soon for children and teachers.

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May 30, 2022Liked by Kaitlin Curtice

Maybe my car warranty is expiring.

Maybe the FOP needs some money.

Maybe my mythical i-cloud account has been compromised again.

Or maybe a big butt has dialed me.

Quirky hopes come rapid-fire

when your phone rings rude at 3 AM.

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Phone ringing at that time is the worst.

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“O death, where is thy sting?”

It is not me, I assure you.

I do not partake

in hot tears and aches

consuming your chest

like an ocean

of jellyfish, swarming.

It is grief you seek

to question, grief

who stays behind.

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May 30, 2022Liked by Kaitlin Curtice


There is a part of death which is so final

No doubt, no question

You are gone

Pain, sorrow, loneliness, shock

But the other part of death

Is the deep flicker of hope

That in the shared love

The shared memories

The shared life lived


You live on

And watch me

Inspire me

Guide me

In this future life I am living

But living without you

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The alien figurines

and Flying Nun comic books

The Sarge the Singing Hamster toy

and the piles of VHS tapes

The empty basement

and empty bookshelves

A garage packed with giveaways

and an overflowing dumpster

—The aftermath of death feels so


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....flying nun comic books....

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My husband’s late grandma did love her comic books! :)

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We talk about death

how their life was, or wasn't


who is left behind.

I want to talk about

the other things that died:

refrigerator contents

unshared hobbies

the relationship

by which I mean

a sense of rootedness, connection

that version of the future

certainty and theoreticals

the chance for something new.


I have regrets.

I have griefs.

And I have more questions

than I realized.

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I believe that life is like an archaeological dig. You don't find answers only more questions.

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1 methimazole AM and PM. 1 Cerenia.

Half a Pepcid AC, 10 small meals. Ultrasound,

Selected Protein, 7 cat litter cleanings,

2 change waters, Exercise, comb, play

Cat Dancer . Wash hands 20

times due to mystery virus. Sweep litter

into dustpan which will need disinfecting,

along with litterbox, scratcher and toys.

Rub big white tummy three times. Task/No Task

shards fall away leaving a quiet bathroom,

Not even the weak meow-- beds are in

the washer. Relief, space, time...

the crossed paws and pristine thick fur,

Jaw and eye bones visible, tactile.

Bringing the rocks, Pick-Axing the hole,

I don't even remember who all the piles

of rocks belong to now....

Malcolm, Uvalde,


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May 31, 2022Liked by Kaitlin Curtice


James Finley said that death is not annihilation but consummation

This and my mom’s experience when she had a heart attack has given me much hope

Too much fear

Too much taboo

Too much unnecessary death

How do we move on

Too much

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My heart just dropped reading those lines. I'm glad that your partner and boys are alive. What a gut-wrenching phone call to receive. I hope poetry helps the processing journey for you.

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Jun 5, 2022Liked by Kaitlin Curtice

I miss hearing your prompts daily! Blessings to you!

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I miss writing them, Gloria! When these beautiful things end, it's sad, isn't it? Keep writing! Pick new words! See what happens. :)

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So funny, the Spirit told me the same thing today. Keep writing!!! Thanks so much!

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Jun 1, 2022Liked by Kaitlin Curtice

31 haiku

Hey Kaitlin, thank you

A joy to share fine poems

What a great idea.

But we must now ask

So what the heck do we do

with the leftovers?

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love this, Chuck! And I have no idea, but you'd better keep them. :)

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Death is a mystery I expect

I’ll never understand

The suffering that death brings

I’ll always question

On a daily trail walk

I observed a decaying tree

returning to dirt

The soil became a vibrant red

and I could smell new life

amidst the decaying

I learned death will always

be a mystery

and one I can learn to trust

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