Count the Glitter

When you start to count the glitter in the sky while lying on the hill, do you feel the grass leaves grow around your arms and legs, always pointing straight up?  Do you realize that they offer you help, each one counting one for you?  They can count but they can't speak—but if they could they would shout their ones and fill you with joy—the joy that is felt only when you can feel the millions around you, all working together to help you.  How I long for you to feel it!  Because when I'm not there, and you imagine that you're all alone, I'm thinking about you, the glitter, and the grass, and I long so desperately for you to feel its help, counting the glitter with you in the night.

I'm Going to Die

I'm going to die
And I'm okay with that,
Because so are you.

If I alone were bound to this fate,
The first and last to feel death's icy breath,
My body alone to enter the earth—
In a graveyard of one—
I probably wouldn't be okay with it,
But I'd likely be rather disgruntled.

I'd feel cheated,
Seeing all the children on the playground
Jumping around and squealing—
Knowing that my own jumps and squeals
Would last only a lifetime.

I'd likely spend a lot more time
Thinking about death,
Puzzling over its causes and workings—
Its philosophy and physiology—
Than I do now.

As a child
I probably would have sat at dinner,
Looking down at my plate,
Twisting my noodles with my fork
Around and under
Around and under
In an existential manner.

When I felt enough courage,
I'd look up and ask my silent parents
Why I alone must go
Instead of growing old forever.

They would then look—
Not at me—
But at each other,
With that look of worry
Created from the lack of something profound and consoling to say
When they most needed it.

But since this is not the case,
My mother looks at me across the table
And kindly says,
"Everybody's going to die."
And we all smile at each other
And continue eating.