Dying. Suffering. Death.

I have suffered death since 3—
Grandmother’s open casket—
casting a shadow on everything since

I have suffered the death of
insects—some drowned,
some squashed
many on their backs refusing
to go gently

I have suffered the death of
animals, some by my hand—
both accidental and with tear-shuddering
compassion—
some on the vet’s table
some on the bathroom floor
all struggling, gasping: suffering.

I have suffered the dying of
family,
never death itself, that moment.
The hospital bed.
The nursing home bed.
And again,
the struggle, gasping: suffering.

I have suffered the death of
myself—or at least its
thought and imagination—
countless times in the weight
of the shadow.
….
But how to die? In my sleep?
So easy and not suffered.
Then,
on the table?
on the bathroom floor?
struggling and gasping: suffering?

I want to die
sitting upright
actualizing the wholeness and
depth of the grasses and trees,
the mountains and waters,
the true human body.

I want to die in
solidarity with this world.

2 thoughts on “Dying. Suffering. Death.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *