poetry by Micah Ling


If ever you’ve seen a thing dying:
a bird or a dog or a man,
even an ugly beast, suffering,
not wanting to die,
putting up a fight of fights,
you know that look,
because it’s in us all.
That not wanting to die look. It’s not fear,
not anger, but something
else. If ever you’ve seen a thing seize
or bleed or cry out—really hurt—
you know that ache. It’s so much
like falling in love. Hearing a song
that brings you back—one that gives
a stomach flip. You’ve fallen
in love; of course you have,
and you’ve seen things fail.
Both are unmistakable; both
are like going blind.