Jody's Notes
Some poems are meant to reassure us. They tell us that even though each individual passes away (including the writer of the poem, including the reader of the poem), still, it's exhilaratingly wonderful that there are always going to be more of us later. Not the same ones, but ones close enough to us for us to be cheerful about the whole process.
This poem was republished in The Lust for Blueprints.
Now it is quiet:
The still rabbit
is easily swallowed; the fiery leaves
are bagged; the mortician
plies her trade
in peace.
Optimists say: leaves fall
every autumn; every day
there are new mayflies; each spring
there are daffodils.
© 1997, 2001 Jody Azzouni