This morning while in the car I heard on the radio a story about the value of poetry, how it can express feelings with less words. Many years ago I considered myself a poet of types. I would call what follows something between a poem and an easy essay that Peter Maurin wrote. Perhaps it is more like a modern day psalm, at least as an attempt.


Past Death to Light

The dark shadow of death surrounds me.
At night I fear going to bed for what dreams may bring.
In the morning I wake up tired and with a headache.
It takes coffee and some sun to get me going.

The darkness of death feels stronger when I am driving.
I fear dying in a car accident and sometimes so worry about it
Then I missed my street or turn.

Yet in this darkness of death a light shines.
I feel it in picking of a ripe tomato in my front yard.
I see the light in the face of a child in the grocery store.

I know this turn toward death was intensified by the death of my son last summer.
I still cannot cry. When I run and hide from it, the impact of his death weighs heavier.

This darkness would be unbearable if it was not for the light,
The moment of silence when I can see deeply into the beauty around me,
Past Death to Light.

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