a poem by Peg Devlyn
I leave behind my worn out parts
These feet, these old knees
Arms’ brittle bones,
These fingers,
Can’t open a jar or a Diet Coke,
This belly, never slim again after four babies,
Small price for those four.
What is dying?
Energy here changes to energy there?
Painful joints, now left behind,
Pain stays here and flickers out,
Even my brain, under threat
Of another terrorist attack from within
Now safe, at peace.
Dying leaves in the dust
All my work yet undone,
Poems and letters still not written,
Words like embryos, not blooming now,
Advice never spoken.
But know the advice I would give you now.
Say every day, Thank You, God.
Say thanks and mean it,
Say it when you can’t yet mean it.
Say it with faith; say it with hope.
Let your giving thanks fill your heart.
Hold this one wish I leave for you.
A thankful heart,
It’s all you’ll need.
What is death?
More than leaving behind,
The things that hurt and don’t work
Like leaving behind a pile of broken toys.
Death is moving into the next life,
With all my wounds healed
And all my words can be perfect at last.
1/20/08