Weekly Edition #37

Mar 25, 2019

Art by Lars Jönsson

My Death by Raymond Carver
If I’m lucky, I’ll be wired every whichway
in a hospital bed. Tubes running into
my nose. But try not to be scared of me, friends!
I’m telling you right now that this is okay.
It’s little enough to ask for at the end.
Someone, I hope, will have phoned everyone
to say, “Come quick, he’s failing!”
And they will come. And there will be time for me
to bid goodbye to each of my loved ones.
If I’m lucky, they’ll step forward
and I’ll be able to see them one last time
and take that memory with me.
Sure, they might lay eyes on me and want to run away
and howl. But instead, since they love me,
they’ll lift my hand and say “Courage”
or “It’s going to be all right.”
And they’re right. It is all right.
It’s just fine. If you only knew how happy you’ve made me!
I just hope my luck holds, and I can make
some sign of recognition.
Open and close my eyes as if to say,
“Yes, I hear you. I understand you.”
I may even manage something like this:
“I love you too. Be happy.”
I hope so! But I don’t want to ask for too much.
If I’m unlucky, as I deserve, well, I’ll just
drop over, like that, without any chance
for farewell, or to press anyone’s hand.
Or say how much I cared for you and enjoyed
your company all these years. In any case,
try not to mourn for me too much. I want you to know
I was happy when I was here.
And remember I told you this a while ago–April 1984.
But be glad for me if I can die in the presence
of friends and family. If this happens, believe me,
I came out ahead. I didn’t lose this one.

Other poems I enjoyed reading this past week:

"Please one more
kiss in the kitchen
before we turn the lights off"

-Wish by W.S. Merwin (Rest In Peace, William)

"Just as we lose hope
she ambles in,
a late guest
dragging her hem
of wildflowers,
her torn
veil of mist,
of light rain,
blowing
her dandelion
breath
in our ears;
and we forgive her,
turning from
chilly winter
ways,
we throw off
our faithful
sweaters
and open
our arms." -Spring by Linda Pastan

"This is a poem for someone
who is juggling her life.
Be still sometimes.
Be still sometimes.

It needs repeating
over and over
to catch her attention
over and over
because someone juggling her life
finds it difficult to hear.

Be still sometimes.
Be still sometimes.
Let it all fall sometimes." -Poem for someone who is juggling her life by Rose Cook "If you place a fern
under a stone
the next day it will be
nearly invisible
as if the stone has
swallowed it.

If you tuck the name of a loved one
under your tongue too long
without speaking it
it becomes blood
sigh
the little sucked-in breath of air
hiding everywhere
beneath your words.

No one sees
the fuel that feeds you." -Hidden by Naomi Shihab Nye