A part of me remains
in the branches of the willow tree,
giggling in the honeysuckle,
and writing poetry
in dust you will never wipe away.
I will linger in your shower steam
and permeate each dream,
smiling at your silly songs,
I might even sing along
as long as you don’t mind.
My body may be gone
but my spirit still sighs,
this is not goodbye.
Kim M. Russell, 16th September 2020
This week Rosemary brings us a selection of death poem, written by poets as they were dying, and she would like to know what our final messages to the world would be. She asks us to write our own death-bed reflections, ahead of time, in new pieces of prose or poetry. She says that if we choose to write poetry, we might like to base it on the form James uses, or copy Carver’s self-questioning, or we might even attempt a jisei.