"The traditional fearsomeness of death (at least when thinking about my own) comes bearing a paradox that's been palpable to me (and slippery) since childhood. Visually, I guess the paradox would look like a moebius strip, the inside twisting around to become outside...I was finally able to slow it down enough to catch the sensation and pace it out and tack some words to it. The writing of the poem doesn't drive out the fear, but at least makes some space for the consistent surprise of the thought to land."
—Lia Purpura