April 24

Bothers

Now that I have seen Death
I don’t imagine him anymore.
He isn’t the billowing gust, or the drama
queen on stage, he is the quiet blink
of gone.

When I was eight, I used to imagine
my grandmother’s death. I would cry
in bed alone, hearing the dry
windows creak, knowing she would
be gone one day. That day
didn’t happen until I was
thirty two, while expectantly absent.
It was sudden even though it had been
coming on for years. Slow, no
drama, just a stopping I missed.

When I finally looked Death
in the face, his eyes
were closed. Death wasn’t
even looking back. He couldn’t
be bothered. We provide
the live drama, he is the absent director.

So I don’t imagine
him any more. I can’t
be bothered.