365 Poems/27 -My Own (Very rough first draft)

My Own

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.