Kinder Than Man - Althea Davis

Althea Davis's powerful poem, "Kinder Than Man," has a way of settling deep into your thoughts, stirring emotions you might not have realized were there. For me, it's a poignant reminder of the delicate balance of life and the often-unseen struggles of creatures sharing our world. The opening lines, pleading for a kind of heaven for the deer on the highway, immediately set a tone of profound empathy. I often find myself connecting this sentiment to my own observations – like seeing a *bumblebee rest peacefully on the palm of a person's hand*, or a tiny *praying mantis nymph delicately perched on a human fingertip*. There's such fragile beauty in these moments. The poem expands on this, wishing a place of comfort for moths drawn to porch lights and mice caught in traps. It’s a universal prayer, a hope that even in death, these small beings find a peace that perhaps life didn't always afford them, a 'sweet reunion' or a place 'with a thousand suns, that taste like sugar.' The central, most striking line, "If I am killed for simply living, let death be kinder than man," hits with remarkable force. It’s a stark contrast, isn't it? It makes you reflect on the struggles we all face, and how often the world, or even other people, can inflict pain simply for existing. This isn't just about literal death, but perhaps the daily indignities, the lack of understanding, or the harshness of circumstances. It resonates deeply with experiences where one feels vulnerable, simply trying to navigate life, and wishes for an end to suffering that is gentle, not cruel. I’ve always been drawn to nature, and the images seen through the poem, and even in the accompanying photos – a *dark butterfly with yellow markings gently resting on a person's open hand*, or a gray moth with intricate patterns on a person's finger – highlight this intimate connection. They remind us of the beauty in the small, often overlooked parts of our ecosystem. The poem uses these creatures as metaphors, perhaps, for all who are susceptible to the indifference or harshness of the world. It’s a call for a universal compassion that extends beyond our species. Reading "Kinder Than Man" makes me consider my own interactions with the environment and the living beings within it. It’s a quiet plea for tenderness, a longing for a world where suffering is minimized and peace is paramount. It doesn't offer answers, but rather invites contemplation on empathy, mortality, and the often-unspoken dignity of all life. It truly leaves you pondering what it means to be 'kinder than man,' not just in death, but in every moment of living.