Why do we die? Because we get old. Why do we die? Because we get sick. Why do we die? Because we are poor. Why do we die? Because we are stuck. Why do we die? Because we fail to notice. Why do we die? Because we are unnourished. Why do we die? Because we cannot put the pieces back together. Why do we die? Because we disconnect. Why do we die? Because we cannot see how we could live. Why do we die? Because our sweat alone cannot create an oasis in a desert. Why do we die? Because we silence our voices. Why do we die? Because reactions are— too often— opposite and
It's weird. I freeze up when it is time to reciprocate the generosity of shared writing by commenting. Short replies seem too shallow. Replying at length and depth seems only appropriate but like a project for which special time I don't have must now be put aside, and so does not happen. Here I have defaulted (a word rich in meaning) to describing what happens.
Ok.
The poem provokes me.
I think about your choice of images and wonder at the ones you considered and left out of the published version.
It feels necessary and necessarily incomplete in a helpful way.
Listening to you read it added another dimension and round of the responses described above.
It's weird. I freeze up when it is time to reciprocate the generosity of shared writing by commenting. Short replies seem too shallow. Replying at length and depth seems only appropriate but like a project for which special time I don't have must now be put aside, and so does not happen. Here I have defaulted (a word rich in meaning) to describing what happens.
Ok.
The poem provokes me.
I think about your choice of images and wonder at the ones you considered and left out of the published version.
It feels necessary and necessarily incomplete in a helpful way.
Listening to you read it added another dimension and round of the responses described above.
I'm very glad you wrote and shared it.
Thank you!