Poem of the Month

 

Talking about Death

 

When you talk about death you think of your own death.

You think of your own death the way

you imagine someone else’s.

It’s unimaginable any other way.

 

You’ve seen it darting across your path,

like a startled rabbit,

maybe even towards you, then veering away

toward someone else.

 

“There but for . . .” you think.

But for what?

Being here, not there.

Talking about death.

 

Talking about death

I don’t know what I’m talking about.

If I did, maybe I’d tell you

I heard a fly buzz.

 

Old as I am, coming nearer it,

wouldn’t you think

I’d see it more clearly?

 

But the years spread

like cataracts

across the line of sight.

The approaching light

turns everything dark.

 

The words come,

darting across my path,

or towards me, veering away

toward someone else.