I really like the way this poem moves, its sudden shifts and its unsentimental ending.
The Beginning of Something Is Always the End of Another
Take the day, for instance: How the ruff
of sun’s first light shoulders the night
aside and when I butt my morning
cigarette, my absolute last cigarette,
I begin to chew my cuticles and why
my next-door neighbor drops by
daily to cry about her ex who ran off
with some little slut he met in tango class,
and when my twenty-year-old cat
misses the litter box, howls at
headlights that strafe the ceiling,
I know this will end in ashes
at a cemetery where we stood
over my mother’s urn, hugless, useless
hands dangling from our dumb arms
while on the hill above us a guy wearing
soiled khakis lounged in a golf cart,
waiting for us to understand this was it,
the end, we needed to leave already
so he could finally begin to dig.
“The Beginning of Something Is Always the End of Another” by Sarah Freligh from Sad Math. © Moon City Press, 2015.