one more day
Death
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.
Death,
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
life
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
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
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..."
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.
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.
“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.
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
Together
You live on
And watch me
Inspire me
Guide me
In this future life I am living
But living without you
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
mundane.
We talk about death
how their life was, or wasn't
circumstances
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.
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,
Buffalo.
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
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.
I miss hearing your prompts daily! Blessings to you!
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?
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
Death
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.
Death,
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
life
Death
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
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
Death
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..."
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.
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.
“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.
Death
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
Together
You live on
And watch me
Inspire me
Guide me
In this future life I am living
But living without you
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
mundane.
We talk about death
how their life was, or wasn't
circumstances
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.
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,
Buffalo.
Death
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
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.
I miss hearing your prompts daily! Blessings to you!
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?
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