Conversations With Death
Death first brushed by
While I was still in the womb
I stared wide-eyed
As he silently stole my brother
“Why?” I asked, “Why him?”
With no acknowledgement
Death gently lifted my brother
And was gone…
Years passed before
I again felt Death’s bearing.
A funeral for an infant.
“How could this poor soul die so young?”
Was the murmur throughout the church.
I did not wonder,
I knew with what ease
Death ensnared children
Before their first gasps for air.
Death came next for my grandfather.
He sat in the room beside me
While doctor’s spouted false hope.
He stood behind my grandfather
When we were told the agonizing truth.
Once again I stared wide-eyed
As death lifted my grandfather
“Why?!” I screamed, “Why him?!”
Same question, yet still no answer
Just gut wrenching silence.
I now look down at the razor.
Young and broken by life.
I gaze back into the mirror
Death glares back,
He shakes his head no.
“Why not?!” I yell at him
After silence for so long,
“I tell you no because it is not your time,
you don’t choose when you die, I do.
You say you’re broken by the world
But you’ve only just begun this life.
I did not spare you all those years ago
For you to simply squander time.
You asked why I took your brother
And wondered why not you.
Because you’re strong, you’re stubborn,
Passion flows through your veins.
Life is not for the faint of heart,
And you my dear, are anything but that.”
Speechless, I step back from the mirror.
I hear the blade clink onto the tile.
As my reflection fades back into sight
I feel something I haven’t ever felt,