We are the animal that knows death.
\nBehind every step, word,
\nwe struggle with our oblivion.
\nWhen did I first know this thing?
\nIn the old parchment
\nof my grandmother\u2019s face?
\nIn the blue rivers of her gnarled hands?
\nIn the gray silver of her half set eyes,
\nlike moons with blue halos
\nand flecks of stone,
\nof granite from the high cliffs
\nof her tired stare?<\/p>\n
I\u2019m not sure.
\nThe dead sparrow
\ndid not tell me,
\nthe brown rose,
\nthe dried body of the bee.
\nIt all seemed so separate,
\nlike dead trees
\nlooming in the woods,
\nlike furniture.
\nOne day I awoke
\nand knew it.<\/p>\n
Was it from a story my father told?
\nThe limestone plaques
\nin the distant graveyard,
\nthe moss around their bottoms,
\nthe lichens crawling over dates
\nthat had no meaning?<\/p>\n
But I knew it,
\nand wakening,
\nI numbered my hours,
\nand drew in my breath.
\nPerhaps it was a fever,
\nthe deep, cold ache of flue.
\nBut it struck me
\nand I almost succumbed to it,
\nmy youthful fancy
\nrent like a rag.<\/p>\n
Someday I would die.
\nNot be old like my grandmother,
\nor tall and certain like my father.
\nBut I would die,
\nand I turned my face to the pillow
\nunable to breathe,
\nand I then knew
\neverything would pass away,
\nand there was no hope,
\nso I became the animal
\nthat knows death,
\nand nothing was the same again.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
We are the animal that knows death. Behind every step, word, we struggle with our oblivion. When did I first know this thing? In the…<\/p>\n