Poem of the Week: “Dearly Departed”Poem (with implied stanza breaks):Dearly DepartedA blanket of ominous black surrounds the perforated sockets of his confused visageMisshapen maladies strike the mallet upon the desk of fateHe looks at the dirt-smudged Starbucks cup that he collects his capitalist suffrage inWith the titanic world on his shoulders, he sluggishly passes a glance at the painted wall across from himThe message to the future is what some would call graffitiHe silently begins counting the stars in the enigma of the skyHe takes his last breath at number one hundred and elevenHis spirit looks down upon his Wal-mart clothed body while saying a prayer to be sent to the lightThe darkness replies, “What is light?”The departed looks confused and confesses that he doesn’t have the answerThe darkness replies, “And now you know and so you are free.”<hr><h2 id="what-i-was-trying-to-do" data-toc-id="what-i-was-trying-to-do" class="font-editorial font-bold mb-2 mt-4 [.has-inline-images_&amp;]:clear-end text-base first:mt-0" style="font-size: 24px; line-height: 1.2;">What I was trying to do</h2>This poem sits right at the threshold between life and death, faith and nihilism, “light” and “darkness.” I wanted to write a spiritual scene that refuses the easy, sentimental afterlife narrative. Instead of a clean ascent into light, we get a homeless, working‑class body—“Wal‑mart clothed,” Starbucks cup in hand—crossing into a realm where even the concept of light is questioned.The poem explores the possibility that liberation doesn’t come from clinging to light, but from letting go of the idea that you need to know what light is. That surrender—the moment when the departed admits he doesn’t have the answer—is the real spiritual pivot. The darkness isn’t just an antagonist; it’s a teacher that uses unknowing as a doorway into freedom.<hr><h2 id="craft-choices-and-how-they-hold-the-duality" data-toc-id="craft-choices-and-how-they-hold-the-duality" class="font-editorial font-bold mb-2 mt-4 [.has-inline-images_&amp;]:clear-end text-base first:mt-0" style="font-size: 24px; line-height: 1.2;">Craft choices and how they hold the duality</h2><ol class="marker:text-quiet list-decimal pl-8"><li class="py-0 my-0 prose-p:pt-0 prose-p:mb-2 prose-p:my-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:pt-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:mb-2 [&amp;&gt;p]:my-0">Concrete class markers in a metaphysical poem The “dirt-smudged Starbucks cup” and “Wal-mart clothed body” drag economic reality into what could have been a purely ethereal piece. This isn’t an abstract soul; it’s someone whose life was shaped by precarity and capitalism. That detail grounds the poem’s spirituality in material life: the person counting stars is also counting coins in a cup. It hints that the suffering we spiritualize in death is already baked into our social structures.</li><li class="py-0 my-0 prose-p:pt-0 prose-p:mb-2 prose-p:my-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:pt-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:mb-2 [&amp;&gt;p]:my-0">Legal / judicial imagery of fate “Misshapen maladies strike / the mallet upon / the desk / of fate” frames illness and misfortune like a cosmic court ruling. The “mallet” suggests a gavel; “desk of fate” evokes a bureaucratic, impersonal justice. This metaphor makes fate feel both clumsy (“misshapen maladies”) and authoritative, underscoring the randomness and inevitability of what happens to him. It’s not a noble martyrdom; it’s an ugly, administrative sentencing.</li><li class="py-0 my-0 prose-p:pt-0 prose-p:mb-2 prose-p:my-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:pt-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:mb-2 [&amp;&gt;p]:my-0">Counting stars as a finite ritual The act of “silently” counting stars is both childlike and ritualistic. Stopping at “one hundred and eleven” gives the poem a numerological, almost mystical texture. Triple ones often carry symbolic weight; here, they become the precise moment of transition. The fact that he dies in the act of counting hints that he’s trying to make sense of an “enigma of the sky” right up to his last breath—and never quite gets there.</li><li class="py-0 my-0 prose-p:pt-0 prose-p:mb-2 prose-p:my-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:pt-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:mb-2 [&amp;&gt;p]:my-0">Dialogue with darkness instead of God In many death poems, the dying figure speaks to God or light. Here, his spirit “saying a prayer to be sent to the light” is met not by a benevolent deity but by darkness itself asking, “What is light?” That reversal is the poem’s theological engine. Darkness becomes an interrogator, someone who dismantles the very concept the soul is clinging to. It’s an anti‑catechism: instead of providing answers, the afterlife strips away the illusion that an answer was necessary.</li><li class="py-0 my-0 prose-p:pt-0 prose-p:mb-2 prose-p:my-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:pt-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:mb-2 [&amp;&gt;p]:my-0">Freedom through unknowing The last exchange— “The departed… confesses / that he doesn’t have the answer. The darkness replies, ‘And now you know and so you are free.’” —is the core of the poem’s spirituality. Freedom comes not from attaining light, but from admitting that you don’t know what light is. That confession collapses the duality the poem has been staging: once you stop clinging to “light” as the only acceptable outcome, darkness is no longer purely enemy. It becomes a state where the burdens of certainty and striving fall away.</li></ol><hr><h2 id="how-you-can-use-this-as-a-readerwriter" data-toc-id="how-you-can-use-this-as-a-readerwriter" class="font-editorial font-bold mb-2 mt-4 [.has-inline-images_&amp;]:clear-end text-base first:mt-0" style="font-size: 24px; line-height: 1.2;">How you can use this as a reader‑writer</h2>If you want to write about spirituality and death without slipping into cliché, you can borrow this approach:<ul class="marker:text-quiet list-disc pl-8"><li class="py-0 my-0 prose-p:pt-0 prose-p:mb-2 prose-p:my-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:pt-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:mb-2 [&amp;&gt;p]:my-0">Anchor the metaphysical scene in concrete class and consumer details (brands, environments, objects) to keep it human and specific.</li><li class="py-0 my-0 prose-p:pt-0 prose-p:mb-2 prose-p:my-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:pt-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:mb-2 [&amp;&gt;p]:my-0">Use a small, repetitive ritual (counting stars, steps, breaths) as the hinge between life and death.</li><li class="py-0 my-0 prose-p:pt-0 prose-p:mb-2 prose-p:my-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:pt-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:mb-2 [&amp;&gt;p]:my-0">Let the afterlife speak in an unexpected voice (darkness instead of God, silence instead of choirs) and ask destabilizing questions.</li><li class="py-0 my-0 prose-p:pt-0 prose-p:mb-2 prose-p:my-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:pt-0 [&amp;&gt;p]:mb-2 [&amp;&gt;p]:my-0">Build toward a moment where the speaker lets go of a cherished concept—light, salvation, certainty—and make that surrender itself the liberation.</li></ul>“Dearly Departed” isn’t just about accepting darkness; it’s about realizing that the categories we cling to in life—light, success, salvation—might be the very things we have to release at the end to finally be free.

Weekly Poem Breakdown - "Dearly Departed" by Adam Levon Brown

Craft choices and how they hold the duality

How you can use this as a reader‑writer

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Weekly Poem Breakdown - "Dearly Departed" by Adam Levon Brown

Weekly Poem Breakdown - "Dearly Departed" by Adam Levon Brown

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