Life Story Poem by Val Morehouse

There is something raw in the taking,
an ordinary sadness that
blackens in the bottom of the cup.
Here a fly is swatted,

wings winking past.
There butterflies ripped from flight.
The grasshopper jerking back
legless in weeds.

Bumbles, bugs, dropped petals
stumble underfoot;
everyday coffins that ripen into insignificance
like lost chances.

Something delicate delivers itself,
need wrapped around each moment
split end to end
only to have it happen again.

Star-like and beautiful
the ant dies
crushed, and pungent.
Do we live only for this?