Where Death Stands

 

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We don't have a guestroom,

so death stands in doorways,

and we brush against it

when we enter and leave

any room, any time.

It's become familiar,

so I ask it to sit

and tell me its  values.

It doesn't reply, but

I hear-touch its surprise.

And the visit extends

way past need, I think, just

as a vampire might stretch

its welcome as long as 

life blood replenishes.

But death is neither god

nor vampire.  Death shocks by

believing in mercy.

I sit on my anger, 

constraining it to ask

What have you to teach me?

What has my fear of you

taught me?  I ask myself

these questions too, looking

into death's pale silence.

Covid is another

story, I say, anger

flaring, and I feel death's

No.   I say, It's unfair.

But death shows me the world:

Nowhere is there fair or

unfair, only unexpected.

Even in the poorest

places, people reach for

life with armfuls of love.

My blog poems are rough drafts.

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© 2021 Susan L. Chast