You have to live for more
than just wind and glimmers,
than paper wings in airbrushed skies.
You must have a hint of fire,
of lovelorn journeys, of beautiful gateways
at the end of time. When death comes
you must have lived in a way
that you can walk through the door
not riddled with remorse or disbelief,
but utterly stunned and happy.
Like that bright chickadee
which just this morning crashed
into my kitchen window,
its small body falling
among the flowers,
the open room
still a target
in its eyes.
by Seth Jani
Editor’s Note: This poem’s tidy lines and imagery in no way prepares the reader for the astonishing and shocking ending.
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