Spinning From Death To Life, a poem by Don Van Hoeven

Had I been there, I would be spinning also—
which I am—not as I used to do it.
I don’t know that man—

deaths makes people different –
the ones who are near
only spin and spin—

maybe even hallucinate—hear things and
talk and talk when someone
is there but not known but

thru grief’s creating—if we put a spin on this,
it is a wall, disenfranchising kind of wall—
do walls spin as they block

curative relinquishing? That is what dissed
lurkers know and feel– self-shame
as grieving is stopped

by another wall—all this because Prof Doak
knows a hell of a lot about the
dissing of bereavement—

sadly only now they tell me— he tells how
and why, like mourners, all those
addicted shame victims,

giving up their souls because of the faces
and voices spinning around them
singing, “you’re not good enough,”

over and over until they are spinning and
singing, and doing “I’m not good

surrounded by the scenes of death and
dying, and their own deep enough
bottoms their only

hope for being in the “now” where
they can be stopped and
have another tune to

sing and dance to—we listen and
it sounds like something
out of gratitude, the

music of which moves me to dance
with them, closer and become
more of who I am becoming—

I didn’t feel this until a dear man
went spinning by and shout-
ing to me telling about it all—

said he heard it on the radio, and a
little child led him to it. Who
was the little child—find one,

and it will be a light for all to see
while they spin and spin, listen
and maybe sing this song that

comes from the dead.

Written while cleaning the tank of the toilet
–Don Van Hoeven

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