Saturday, for Leon and I, was two attempted celebrations, one of death and one of life, and though it is inevitable they might collide with one another, they interwove as well.
It took me all day to put Saturday’s weaving into words. Yes, me, the person who usually just throws poetry on the page and leaves it unedited, took hour upon hour. The vast majority of this poem came exactly as usual, as quickly as I could type it, but the editing literally stretched it from breakfast through lunch until after three. But, because I am who I am, it still reads, I’m sure, as if it was merely thrown out of my head onto paper. But this is not about good poetry or bad poetry for me, it is about real life and real death and real reactions.
Celebration of Life and Death Collide
