death and poets
every poem about death
was written by the dead.
they etch their impact on the people left behind;
the people called poets are the ghost
-writers, lingering and lurching
and searching for meaning
and the place they find it
is in their hearts, a place
where the dearly departed had already
had penned it in secret.
poetry’s just a matter of unearthing this truth
that was already there. the beauty that was
already there, revealed to us by vacuum and loss.
y’ever notice what happens after
an atom bomb explodes?
the sudden shockwave, brilliant and violent
creates a vacuum in space
where the air is displaced,
and when the wave is big enough you can see it
PULL everything around it together,
a surrounding rush to equalize pressure
in the space where loss was greatest.
above, a plume rises and shines
like the way they say pleasant mornings
are supposed to be.
thank goodness you’re reading this
thank goodness you’re here.
thank goodness you’re thinking
about the day and the memes and the birds.
thanks goodness it hurts.
thanks goodness we’re planting the seeds
for what needs to be said about us
when the poets become our friends
and it’s our turn to say
to the end.