That, finally, is all it means to be alive: to be able to die
In Preparation for a Death
So this is the labor:
scooping up the dry
bodies of flies
from beneath the meditation mats,
watching the dark
cluster in the dust pan,
I’m thinking about the time
I barfed on a subway platform.
It was very late, and I
imagined the person
who would take care of my vomit
before the morning commute. She
wore orange pants. Her fingernails
were clean. Her hands were very strong.
I wiped my mouth and got on the train.
In this way we are all the same.