Which Species on Earth is Saddest?
When we wake up in our bodies, first we weep.
We weep because the air is thick as honey.
Even the air is a body. Ours is the bottommost
and newest body, nested inside other, older ones
(though the mother’s body is repairing itself now;
there’s no trace of us anywhere on her;
why are we part of every body but our mother’s?)
Die as soon as possible, the Scriptures say.
And many do—or soon enough, as in the tales of
a swollen boy, now years ago, in farthest Africa,
who filled a grove of cherry trees with tears, then
vanished into the grove. He hides behind trees.
That’s death for you. Grief is a cherry grove.
Don’t be born at all. My friend is on fast-forward now
to reach the scene where they erase her childlessness.
She knows she hid that kid somewhere inside of her,
but where? We know nothing else except by learning:
not walking, not eating. Only to cry comes naturally.
źródło: Read A Little Poetry
10.09.2026