The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.
I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably. Burial was no help:
Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful
Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.
Philip Larkin, The Mower
Enough. These few words are enough.
If not these words, this breath.
If not this breath, this sitting here.
This opening to the life
we have refused
again and again
- David Whyte, “Enough”
Kurt Vonnegut, Player Piano
Michael Chabon, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
Last night the stars
were numerous and today
snow is their calling
card I’ll not be cordial
there is nothing that
distracts me music is
only a crossword puzzle
do you know how it is
when you are the only
passenger if there is a
place further from me
I beg you do not go
Frank O’Hara, “Morning”
April Bernard, “Bloody Mary”
Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude
Mark Bibbins, “In the Corner of a Room Where You Would Never Look”