The BlueIris Semi-Nightly Poetry Break, 9/24/08

[BlueIris]

"freddy, dead at nine months"

Sometimes Ma, in her extremity,
weeping privately over the washtub,
senses my presence, feels that I'm near,
calls herself a fool. But she's not mistaken.

I *am* there behind the stove. I am the heat
on her brow, my privilege to tarry,
suffered to loiter as I couldn't in life,
moonbeam, magpie, gust in the slough.

I am not alone as she fears, nor unhappy.
No chip on my ineffable shoulder. Rather
a rich air of communion, buoyance—what
you feel when your heart swells. And
there *they* are—Ma, my sisters, isolated,
stragglers, each with her own reduction:
*should have been me, could have been me.*
Staggered, drifting, aimless as cattle
in a blizzard, heads lowered, numb,
the horizon hopelessly obscured.

—Sharon McCartney

[ThomCat]

1. Wow.

That seems like it has to be pretty unique.

I don't know, maybe this is TMI, but I've been having talks with friends recently about death being not so bad. This poem fits that feeling very well. I'm really drawn into this right now.

In my case I'm thinking about death because of pain spiralling up and function spiralling down. When you find yourself heading into a situation worse than death, death is not a bad way out. Not that I'm at that point. Hopefully I'm a little way away from there still. But that's what we've been talking about.

So the idea of being dead, but being okay... this resonates with me right now. I'm going to read this a few times. And after I get past identifying with this on a personal level I'm going to look at this to see how other people might relate to it, and what it might mean for other people.

Sharon McCartney wrote an incredibly powerful poem.

[BlueIris]

2. I'll keep your thoughts in mind when picking out other poems for this month.

I think the topic of death as a transition (not an ending) is fascinating and topical for many here right now.

Curiously, you're the only one brave enough to have left a comment, though.