Death or Life by Caroline Levin-Cardenas (16, Florida)

Here I stand, dying, while surrounded by so much life.
Leaves rustle, 
birds cry, 
rain falls, 
and I am suffocating in it all. 
It is too much. 
I am alive. ​

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The Earth under me shifts, and suddenly I am
slipping, slipping down, 
slipping through layers of slick mud and grainy soil,
slipping down until I am surrounded by it,
surrounded by dark, 
and for once, I am at peace. 
I am alive. 

A moment passes, and then I hear it: 
their cries. 
The birds above me wail, screeching their
sorrows, and I am stuck. 
Stuck below. Stuck in the soil. 
I am powerless.
I am alive. 

That’s when I scream. 
It’s blood-curdling, or at least it should be…
is it? 
No 
it can’t be; 
I can’t breathe. 
I try to, I do, but the dirt fills my lungs. 
I imagine them, lobes of spongy tissue, undulating with
soil. 
I feel mud slip out of my nostril as a single tear.
I am alive. 

I know I am. 
I must be. 
If I’m not, how can I feel this? 
Unless this is Hell? 
No, no 
Hell wouldn’t be this bad. 
I am alive. 

I have to be.
But why don’t I feel it? 
Or maybe I do? 
Is that what life is? 
Just pools of nothing, 
shallow and pristine, 
nothing waiting at the bottom, 
until a gator erupts from the surface and drags me down,
and wow, 
maybe this pool is deeper than I thought because
I am drowning in it and 
being ripped from limb to limb? 
But still, I survive. 
I am alive. 

I survive by spending an 
eternity in limbo, forced to choose: 
Life or Death? 
And I can’t choose, 
because I’ve never had either. 
I am alive. 

I hear them still, 
even now,
the sparrows and bluejays shrieking above me.
I wonder, 
do they feel themselves dying, too?
Is that why they protest? 
At least they have the good sense to fight it for
themselves. 
Me, 
I exist for other people. 
A worm slides by, 
and I reach for it; 
maybe I can feed the birds. 
I am alive. 

I push through the surface like 
a sprout meeting the world for the first time,
worm in hand. The birds 
crowd me and 
fight for the worm 
until it is gone. 
Then they look at me, 
expectantly, 
and I know what they want. 
I sink into the soil once more.
I am alive. 

Why is it when I’m surrounded by life
that I feel closest to death? 
I am dying. 
I am alive.