There is no other way than Resurrection— no cage to rattle, no morbid misdirection— the fever won, an ending without satisfaction— plead if you like or yield (no need for intention)— the nurse is gone the medics left the field— we lie, deadweight awaiting an ascension— Come, uproot us grain fallen, unattended but by worms and rot— this seedling life as yet our bitter portion.
*My Memama died, in Christ, this week. I’ve already shared one poem for her, on the Rabbit Room’s Poetry Substack, simply titled Memama, when we thought she was at death’s door. But she lingered, in suffering. So we lament.
Anna, what a tender poem...
Yes, "There is no other way."