Our Most Unique Act

Over the last few months, it has felt like death has been all around. And rather than feeling surprising, I have been reminded that death is exceedingly ordinary. It is part of the natural rhythm of the universe. A friend sent me this poem this week that spoke to these realizations I’ve been having. This is “Death Again” by Jim Harrison:

Let’s not get romantic or dismal about death.


Indeed it’s our most unique act along with birth.


We must think of it as cooking breakfast,


it’s that ordinary. Break two eggs into a bowl


or break a bowl into two eggs. Slip into a coffin


after the fluids have been drained, or better yet,


slide into the fire. Of course it’s a little hard


to accept your last kiss, your last drink,


your last meal about which the condemned


can be quite particular as if there could be


a cheeseburger sent by God. A few lovers


sweep by the inner eye, but it’s mostly a placid


lake at dawn, mist rising, a solitary loon


call, and staring into the still, opaque water.


We’ll know as children again all that we are


destined to know, that the water is cold


and deep, and the sun penetrates only so far.