Sunday, November 30, 2014

When Death comes 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 the 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 the 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.

Mary Oliver

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Undoubtedly, we will be recycled.

Rambling Woods said...

I think this was written when her longtime partner died.... Michelle

Folkways Note Book said...

Mary Oliver is amazing. She always comes through with words that tumble out but with the greatest of meaning. Thanks for sharing this -- it is a saver to place in my homemade book of poems. -- barbara