Today I met Death

He follows me, loyally, like a pack of trained dogs.

Today I met death
Again.

Not in hospital with cloudy white walls
Not with an abudunce of hemoraging linens or tubes
And not with the incessent groan
  of calling cards from the sick and dying.

Dwelling; the dillusional ruminations I cannot escape

 

Not in the back of the rickety van
Where the casket holds the deceased like a newborn baby.

Not while we transported the lifeless across and close to 500 miles

The thought of the undead and an oil change seemed relatively normal

goosebumps prick my skin like tiny needles

 

And not at the funeral where I choke down and whisper my farewell.

Not where I lose myself within the brochure of the my dearly departed

Or where I can smell the vommit of the flower arrangements placed on the stage

  taunting me.

 

And not in the operating room where we watched his heart turn to tar

And the clocks stopped while the monotoneous siren of the flatline hung in the air

 

 

Not at the nursing home after Chicka Chicka Boom Boom

or the piano I was told would make everyone "feel" better

And not with your loved ones crowding around

Waiting...for death to take you.

 

Not in the bitter waiting room when I sentenced you quietly to sleep

And the goodbye was short; Not so sweet.

 

And not at the cemetary where the spring rain felt like winter

Biting, gnawing at my skin

Not like headstones popping up like grass

Or grave plots filling up like my sad glass of wine.

 

Today, death had a different face

As he always does

 

Today I met death

On the road beside a firey clump of metal

Just skimming the ditch.

Blanketing the road, the giant blue napkin was to serve some purpose

But the outstretched arm of the dead, reaching for just a few more moments

Burnt, blistered, and no longer like a human.

The ridiculous blue napkin serving as comfort

For who?

We, that pass-er-by?

The living victim still experiencing the aftermaths of psychological shock

The ambulance and medics that weren't there yet, that we beat to it

Or maybe the lifeless victim that just felt cold and alone.

 

The smell of burnt rubber,

And a woman scurrying back and forth

Racing. Pacing. In fast forward.

 

Sensory overload.

 

Today I met death.

Again.

Today, death had a different face

As he always does.

Reviews

[Briana O'Connor]

What a heart wrenching piece! I could see each scene you spoke of, one death experience after the other. The last one was the most haunting. I could feel the emotion lift into me through your words. The piece flowed with persistence, making it easy to read and pulling me forward with not pause. Thank you for sharing and please return the favor by reviewing one of my pieces.