Death and Poetry

for Penny Holt

1

I think dying is a lot like writing poetry.

There is some fear when you approach each,

but you don’t let that stop you.

You notice how death and poetry

only deal with what is essential,

the essence of yourself, your spirit.

You see your flesh as a thin membrane,

separating you from that ladder of light

you must climb

to weave words together 

or to die.

I expect there will be kind angels

to help you climb, and others

who will wrestle hard with you until dawn

so you will become strong enough

to bear blessings

that flow from their hands.

2

I know that when you write

it is a sort of death,

a birth into a new world

you have been creating

since the day you were born.

It is probably the same

when you die.

You will bring your own 

loves, fears, dreams

with you, creating your own Heaven,

bearing it like the shell

a sea creature forms

from ordinary bits of life.

Then, there is light.

Both dying and poetry

are all about light,

how it leads you through shadows

you think you might drown in,

how it is the thread

that ties together

your past, present, and future selves

so you can write or die

with your whole self,

a plant with buds, flowers,

and seed pods bursting.

3

To write poems, you must trust

the path to appear before you,

but only as you plant your feet.

Dying, I think, is much the same,

an act of faith,

or maybe a wild leap

into invisible arms,

that like the earth,

have always held you up.

© Jean Sampson, 2014

Hearts-a-bursting
Photo by Tony Russell