Tonight I think of how death teaches us how to live —
crocheted in recent family mortalities
nestled in screams cupping answers to live by
encased with mirrors as reminders to enjoy simple pleasures.
Or maybe it’s the Buddhist book curled on
my bedside table which describes
the power of living in the present moment—gears fixed
in slow motion, like spending time brushing our teeth,
watering flowers, walking in our gardens and
meditating parks. Or maybe it’s the dead philosophers
like Socrates who profess that death has no place in our lives.
Maybe I feel this way because my favorite aunt was put to rest
and mother lay in oblivion in some foreign intensive care
after a tumble from her horse’s back,
at the age of eighty—maybe nature’s song
and a reminder to give up her driving passion—a subtle
hint of injuries to put the break on her life. Maybe my prayer
will be answered or maybe tonight I will slip asleep
and not wake up and maybe I will be satisfied
because I knew how to smell the flowers
and water my internal garden,
give myself permission to live.
Diana M. Raab is a poet and memoirist who teaches writing at the UCLA Writers’ Program and at conferences around the country. Her writings have appeared widely in anthologies, literary journals and magazines. She has three poetry collections. Dear Anais: My Life in Poems for You (2008) won the 2009 Next Generation Indie Award and Reader Views Annual Award for Poetry, as well as received other high honors. My Muse Undresses Me (2007) is her chapbook and her latest collection is The Guilt Gene (2009).
