When I saw Death standing at my doorstep
I thought of the speech I long prepared.
“Why did you take them away, why so many?
Did you have to take Keith and Bill and Frederic
and Mahlon and Tim and Hunter and Kerry –
I could go on with the names all day.”
Sometimes when I compose this long rehearsed
speech, I also ask, “Why them and not me?”
All these words hung in the air unspoken
as I watched how tired Death looked.
Death's bones bowed with weariness.
“So, do you want to come in?” I asked.
Death gave no answer but walked in
and sat in my living room chair.
I dropped over the tired bones my favorite
afghan quilt knitted by my grandma.
I almost said, you are now wrapped by the
love of one more you stole, but held my tongue.
I made Death a cup of tea, who took it
gratefully. And we sat. In silence.
The strangeness of Death sitting in
my living room, covered by my grandma's
wool afghan, sipping tea wore off.
We were not strangers to each other.
Then Death stood, handed me the tea cup,
the afghan dropping to the chair.
As Death crossed my threshold I said,
“I suppose I will see you again one day.”
--Michael Kiesow Moore
From The Song Castle. Nodin Press © 2019.
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