It's been another very long week.
And it's snowing again here.
Let's have some poetry!
(But first . . . a sunset from my front porch, earlier in the week.)
Antidotes To Fear of Death
by Rebecca Elson
Sometimes as an antidote
To fear of death,
I eat the stars.
Those nights, lying on my back,
I suck them from the quenching dark
Til they are all, all inside me,
Pepper hot and sharp.
Sometimes, instead, I stir myself
Into a universe still young,
Still warm as blood:
No outer space, just space,
The light of all the not yet stars
Drifting like a bright mist,
And all of us, and everything
But unconstrained by form.
And sometimes it's enough
To lie down here on earth
Beside our long ancestral bones:
To walk across the cobble fields
Of our discarded skulls,
Each like a treasure, like a chrysalis,
Thinking: whatever left these husks
Flew off on bright wings.
April is National Poetry Month, and each year, in April, I celebrate poetry here on my blog -- hoping to win over some converts to the beauty and peace and accessibility of poetry. Sharing something that brings me joy.
Today's poem was published in A Responsibility of Awe, 2018, Carcanet Classics. Information about the author can be found here.
My best wishes to all of you . . . for a weekend filled with peace and solace.