365 Poems/27 -My Own (Very rough first draft)
After the most recent death
of a much loved family member,
I fall into this odd routine of living,
where everything is just
one sharp shock after another.
From the beginning,
when the word death
first formed on my lips,
I didn’t think it would happen
to my own.
To my mind, it just wasn’t possible,
because I believed my family
were simply indestructible.
Death would touch everyone else’s
but mine. Not mine. Never mine.
And then, when Death did come,
it was like he’d tapped
the wrong person on the shoulder,
like he’d turned the wrong person
cold and blue and still.
The he touched another, and another,
like he’s was just repeating
the same mistake,
and I was convinced
it had to stop sometime soon,
that people around me had to stop dying.
The house is quieter than it’s ever been.
TV is off, tea stewed in the pot,
sugar crystallizing at the bottom of cups.
Even the cat has started to stay out longer,
and not disrupt when he comes back in.
But we’ll sort of get over it,
like we did before,
and when it happens the next time,
and the next, we’ll not be at all prepared
for the familiar yet entirely different
sequence of events.