this is how death is:

the year steals a person away.

A person loved now dead

dies all that year

an especially macabre, extended party

and entirely unplanned, but that’s how death is.

Reverse “birthday week”
each days marks a day closer to a day they weren’t there at all.

Erasing them by holiday,

and by season.

By habit,

and by dynamic.

By olfactory,

and by audio.

By everything!

and by nothing,

(it just stales)

until bye and bye

it turns…

Seemingly just like that

(the mundane continuity an abomination)

a ball drops

and a heart well and truly breaks, and

> never at any point <

in that next year

will the one lost

*still be okay*

(still time!)

and that’s how realization sets in,

and that’s how loss resounds,

and that’s how death is.

©Karen Robiscoe


About Charron's Chatter

I bring to you an arrow, whole, Use it, or break it, But if you choose to take it --Know-- With it also, I will go. © Karen Robiscoe @1992

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