People die. Everyone does.
Every last one of us
will take that final
step. No matter if
you dread it or welcome it
or just face it or not, you
will do it same as me, same
as a Tuscan peasant woman or
an old-timey soldier or
an ersatz self-important
man. So:

take me as you find me, Death;
you as pretty smooth girl, as
a wolf with golden eyes, as nothing
at all in fact. Take me

whole and happy, serene with you
and your grace, or as violent rager
in the moment of crash and burn;
take me and let them wail for me
and gnash their teeth over me
or sniff, after some time has passed,
at the mention of my name,
or forget me entirely.
I won’t quibble even if I am aware
of these dismissals and histrionics.
They won’t matter.

What will matter
is me sitting by a window
on a balcony in a small city, my words
on paper before me, a cup of good coffee
before me.

What will matter
is me there at peace
for once in my messy life, for once
content amid all the chances to mourn
myself and the tangle I’ve faced and
run from;

me saying it is finished
and meaning it; me turning back
to the pages of the book writing itself
before me and wondering, marveling
that it came out this way; surprised

at the detail, moved to tears
by the turns of events, surprised
really and truly that it took me so long
to see it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T