Here’s a poem by Alexia Knapp inspired by our visit to Glasnevin Cemetery and Mark Strand’s poem “2002.”

I’m not thinking of death, but death is thinking of me. He’s thinking of me as I sit below the pine just past the lake. With the breeze rippling the pages of my book as I read, I’m not thinking about death, but death is thinking of me. As I drive down the roads I’ve known my whole life, listening to the songs I sing along with on a Friday night; I’m not thinking of death but death is thinking of me. He thinks of me when I stand beneath the sky as it pours down rain. As I stand soaking wet taking in the life I feel rushing through me as I hear the sky crack and watch it light up. He thinks of me when I’m crossing the street to the coffee shop I visit everyday. He thinks of me as I sit in the passenger seat of the car as my sister drives, joking about our future. I’m not thinking of death, but death is thinking of me. He’s thinking of my parents and my sister and my brother, of my family, and friends, and the ones I’m yet to meet.

I wasn’t thinking of death, but death was thinking of me.