Regular readers know mariner is blessed to be married to the best poet ever to not be published. A few posts ago the focus was on the reintroduction of the Woolly Mammoth as a hairy mouse. It reminded him of a poem his wife wrote reflecting a different philosophy about living:
Leavings
I sweep up the leavings of sunflower seeds
left behind by a mouse
whose fate was snapped like its neck
in a trap that I had set.
I am glad that he had the thrill of satiety
when he found the bag of sunflower seeds
He was a millionaire among mice
in that moment of his big find.
I am glad that he did not know
his life would be cut short because of it.
Surely in that last moment there was no time for fear
And that snap too quick for pain.
He had perhaps the best that life can offer
in a little life–the warmth of a basement in winter
an endless pile of food, a quick and merciful death.
Or do I deceive myself?
His was not a little life, no smaller than my own.
Like me, he wanted more than comfort, warmth and food
He sought those things because they brought him more life
And more life was what I deprived him of.
MKM
1-19-19
That’s a beautiful poem. I struggle with this kind of thing when I kill ants or mice. The Cambodian Buddhist priests apparently say a prayer apologizing to any insects or other living being that they happen to accidentally step on. I sure would like to see a book of the collected poems of Marty Miller.