For My Mom Doris Rosenblatt Siegel who died May 16, 2014
by
Mary Oliver
When
death comes
like
the hungry bear in autumn
when
death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to
buy me, and snaps his purse shut;
when
death comes
like
the measle-pox;
when
death comes
like
an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I
want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;
what
is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And
therefore I look upon everything
as
a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and
I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and
I consider eternity as another possibility,
and
I think of each life as a flower, as common
as
a field daisy, and as singular,
and
each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending
as all music does, toward silence,
and
each body a lion of courage, and something
precious
to the earth.
When
it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I
was a bride married to amazement.
I
was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When
it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if
I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I
don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened
or
full of argument.
I
don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
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