Media and Death
My name is Jamie Lee Hamann and I started writing poetry on Hubpages back in 2013. Every year I share a poem a day in April.
I
While I wash dinner dishes
scrape the crud off of plates
I overhear my children
watch Minecraft MODS
without understanding,
how this disappear and restart,
how this form of entertainment
has any type of value
but they stare.
I am as uncomfortable with all this,
as I am in large crowds of people,
or when I need to confront someone,
or as I am with the idea of death.
Two things I know nothing about:
What all this device usage means
and what happens when we die?
A reminder of a podcasts
where they talked about a poem
called "Media and Death.”
A collage of images
set around a television
where the narrator is reminded
of death in her own life.
What reminds me?
Each episode of "Black Mirror"
I binge watch on Netflix.
Didn't Emily Dickinson
have something to say about this.
Then in an act of defiance
I write
D - E - N - I - A - L
with my wet finger
on steamed window
above the sink
Denial
Same word I found
spelled out
on a piece of scratch paper
underneath my smart T.V.
near my new VR set
where my daughter
walks with extinct animals,
animals long dead
brought to life for her to touch,
she was not born for death.
I find myself on Facebook
where my memories crystallize.
Life into data ports,
pictures of my children,
play in sand on beach,
hiking up a mountain,
a day at the pool.
Rants and raves of everyday
an overall capture
of the essence of time
a firm grip on immortality.
My oldest with his laptop,
symphony to Vonzipper,
tells me I know nothing
of electronics.
I tell him I know nothing
of whatever all this is
like I know nothing
about death.
A friend of mine
waits patiently
for Melanoma
to bring
a settling sleep.
He dreams of turtles
real ones he can touch
hours of staring
at this creature move
not on television
or a video from "youtube"
II
...is it instant gratification
or an extended period of patience?
I gaze out over my children's heads,
of my little electronic zombies.
What becomes of my friend?
The one diagnosed
with stage 4 Melanoma,
what becomes of his presence
in the world of data?
Does he still die alone?
When I look up at the ceiling
I see an end and scared
I look down at my children's heads
again.
Everything artificial is better real,
the smell of fresh cut lawn,
the amazing movement of ants.
"Get up kids, get up!
Go outside and get off those things!
Find a turtle at the park,
use your imagination,
make up a game,
play
fight
argue
live
this is a thing I understand.
© 2018 Jamie Lee Hamann
