Death Spoke to Me
Death spoke to me
on the side of the road,
as the sun sank beneath the horizon
and stained the sky red.
Death spoke to me
after the EMTs fussed over me,
after the officers talked to me
in low, somber tones,
after my parents were put in bags
and taken away.
Death spoke to me,
seated at my side
in a tailored suit of black silk,
as I stared at the wreckage of the car
that first responders had cut me out of
and tears rolled silently down my face.
Death spoke to me
in a voice that was
raspy as grating tombstones,
choked with grief,
soft with respect.
Death spoke to me
on the side of the road,
under the blood-red sky
and said, “I’m sorry.”
Death stood by me
as I shook hands, accepted hugs
and listened to everyone remember.
Death stood by me
for the entire three-hour wake,
silent and steady and strong.
Death stood by me
as the priest spoke over their caskets,
as we carried my parents out of the church,
as we left for the cemetery.
Death stood by me
as I addressed everyone
in a voice clogged with tears,
when they lowered my parents to the ground,
when they covered the graves.
Death stood by me
and never once left my side.
Death followed me
as I continued on through life,
as I lived and lost,
as I grew and aged.
Death followed me
through time,
as weeks turned to months
turned to years,
as the tailored suit gave way to
a simple shirt and slacks.
Death followed me
through decades of triumphs and failures,
silent and steady and strong.
Death followed me,
and I never once thought to ask why.
Death chastised me
when I slowly struggled to wake
on a cloudy afternoon,
with plaster around my arm
and machines beeping by the bed.
Death chastised me
after the doctor updated me on my status,
after the nurse gave me more medicine,
after I spoke with my visitors.
Death chastised me
in a tone meant for parents speaking
to naughty children
or for someone speaking
to a loved one.
Death chastised me,
and I smiled and listened to that familiar voice
and fell back asleep comforted
that I was not alone.
Death came for me
on a peaceful, spring morning,
as birds sang in the trees
and the earth came back to life.
Death came for me
as I sat on my porch,
my old bones folded onto a bench
and covered in wool.
Death came for me
in a black shirt and jeans
and asked in that familiar
raspy-choked-soft voice,
“How long has it been
since we met on the side of that road?”
Death came for me on a peaceful, spring morning,
as the sun rose above the horizon
and the birds sang their songs,
after decades of adventures
and mishaps
and happiness
and grief,
Death came for me,
and together,
we stood,
and together,
we left.
Death came for me
and took my hand
as I smiled and said, “Hello.”