I Wrote These Words Poem by Jack Galmitz

To make dying easier, I wrote these
words. Not all together. Seldom when alone.
I assembled them without giving it thought. Eased
into the idea they may make a whole,
the way bones support a body, a breastplate
for a heart. It would be a testament
to something I knew little about. Meant
to be heard by each visitant alone
and by them understood belatedly.
Some might cry, some my sneer, how would I know.

I began with star, because of what it implies-
travel, distance too great to be understood,
a limit to the human world. It might make you
feel frightened and comforted or both.
And I provided a bier of wood
so your thoughts could travel back in time
yet remain where they were. Something fashioned
by a man, useful, of the woods and earth.
As an afterthought, I added a shroud.
You slept under a blanket the night before.
I wanted you to still feel warm.

A field. There must be a field. For your mind
and body to be well. There you could invent and think,
make rules and eliminate them, run without end
and walk with friends. It was a place to lie down and be content.
Once, someone from over a rise approached
and drew near and you felt their warmth.
There you stayed at length and found yourself a home.
When the field shifted and the light broke
into columns of running firs, you waved
your arm to us.