Day 23. November PAD - Waiting for...

Waiting For Death 

I suppose it comes of being a tiny
girl taking daddy’s pulse-pressing
a small ear to his broad chest and
repeating the sounds of his heart
to him bump, bump, bum-bump,
bum-bump-bump. I suppose it
comes of a certain blurry sense
of certitude in ephemerality born
in first breath – swirling through-
out first years – as I sat with him
listening to music pounding so
loud that the walls shook and
he cried with passion and some-
thing unnamable – I suppose –
it was then I noticed Death had
slipped in and sat on the couch
walked the shore-line and every-
where with us – so close that I
could almost see an arm draped
above daddy’s young shoulders –
I suppose it comes from Death as
just another member of the family
uninvited but constantly there be-
cause He was, after-all at home –
I suppose even though it took so
many years for him to reach out
his hand and clasp my father’s –
there was always the waiting – not
in fear but in inexorable anticipation
I suppose – it sounds odd to some
but that’s just the way families are.
sometimes.