I met her that black May.
You know, the stories say that Death
is male. Then came the fated day I
found out otherwise,
because She sat with me on the
step in front of my house.
The sky had turned
the color of rust,
an orange popsicle glow
in which black flapping birds
approached a simmering orb,
and Death and I talked.
She said, You look down.
How come? She had a tube in
her nose and wore a starched
gown of white ---
dark circles, the accessory under
Her sunken eyes that gave Her away.
I said, "Please bring her back."
Death chuckled; I'm afraid I can't.
The light in the sky was dying,
like the light in Her eyes.
I felt a small terror, seeing,
finally, that there was nothing
to be seen. I stood.
"Perhaps this is dumb" ---
Then I awaken.
The last orange embers
flutter to grey.
My pain blooms,
dark as water on concrete.
The evidence stains my pillow.
DU LÄSER
Summer of Grief - Poems (Online Chapbook)
Poesi❝ then learning ... she's gone. Like a dropped knife clattered on a hard linoleum floor --- then, stunned silence. ❞ Poems of grief, loss, and healing, written from an intimate perspective. ❋ ❋ ❋ Summer of Grief - Poems (Online Cha...
