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death in waves
by Kate Swearingendeath comes to me
in waves.
in highschool we were trained
like Pavlovs dogs
the bell rang and we knew
another shadow would join our halls
but we leaked from our eyes
instead of dripping saliva from our mouths
and, at the end, there was no reward.
by the third one
we were confused
and by the eighth
we were numb.
sometimes the world is
too small and stifling
the tiny space between alive
and not steals away with
all the air inside me.
its a question with no answer.
i try to imagine the afterward
its like trying to see life
before the living.
maybe another life - an old man
or a small animal or a
cloud, or a seed from
a dandelion moving in the wind.
or, inevitably
nothing.
and i think i
was probably numb then, too.
03/01/2007 Posted on 03/01/2007
Copyright © 2024 Kate Swearingen
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/02/07 at 03:31 PM "sometimes the world is too small and stifling
the tiny space between alive and not steals away with all the air inside me." I liked how you expressed your thoughts about death and its mystery. I guess it's what we do beyond the "numb" that might be the key.
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| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 03/02/07 at 03:35 PM Yeah, between losing a friend or two every year, and pro wrestlers kicking off in their mid-forties (you'd be shocked at how many within a given year), I think I've been in that same area of thought as well. And you did a wonderful job of capturing it for us. |
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