Here: Have some thoughts about Socrates' either/or thoughts about death.
Death, in the orderly procession
of random events on a gradually
expiring planet crooked in a negligible
arm of a minor galaxy adrift among
millions of others bursting apart in
the amnion of space, will, said Socrates,
be either a dreamless slumber without end
or a migration of the soul from one place
to another, like the shadow of smoke rising
from the backroom woodstove that climbs
the trunk of the white ash tree outside
my window and now that the sun is up
down come two red squirrels and a nuthatch.
Later we are promised snow.
So much for death today and long ago.
Poem ©2012 Maxine Kumin, all rights reserved. Used by permission of the author. Film ©2013 Motionpoems, Inc., all rights reserved.