If death is the absence of life, / then death’s death is life.
—Sun Ra
Gather your losses, oblong
& indiscriminate: avocado rot,
football, cracked soap dish;
dropped eggshells, embryo
gone. Gather mutilated joy.
Smelted promises. Aloft,
here & now. In open air.
Gather your heartbreak, wind-
ing & windowless. Animal
the shadow, lurking
at the edges
of your mouth.
Needle into a nest
your intricate sorrows.
Roost there. Gather
yourself. In a clearing—
Or gather your losses
like twin sheets, stripped
from a sick child’s bed.
I know I know it’s difficult
to face it alone.
To know you must
gather your darkness
or lose yourself to the animal
that thrives therein. To vanquish
your losses in daylight,
gather your life
by the scruff. Hold on
to what you can.
Copyright © 2026 by Marcus Wicker. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on August 11, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
