What do we say to death when
it insists on arriving despite the fact that we
are not ready? We still have love
that needs to be given. We
haven’t said all that we feel
to those who need to know. It
is never the right time, is it? That’s all.
(a shovel poem after Robert S. Carroll “This Much”)
I get daily emails of poetry from several sources. I don’t have time to read them all, but I look at least one every day. Yesterday when I opened the Rattle email to the poem “This Much” by Robert S. Carroll, about the death of his father, I was stopped in my tracks. I read it over several times, and then wrote this shovel poem from the ending thought “When we love, we feel it all”. I urge you to read Carroll’s poem here.
I know everyone is obsessed with Donald Trump right now, but 4000 people died yesterday in the United States from Covid-19.