The Open Window

Death clarifies.
It sweeps the dust bunnies out of the mind.
It closes many doors
But leaves one tiny window ajar,
giving dignity and peace to suffering souls.

It monitors hearts
And guages blood pressure
It is intravenous cathetirization
And a long, lonely wait.

The phone rings off the hook.
She lacks the courage to pick it up.
Only to learn of further decline.

It is feverish Scripture readings
And fervent supplications on worrisome beads.

It is an acceptance, a giving up of power.
An "out of my hands now" submission.
It is a final, lucid exhalation.
Death is kind.

It is washing and cleaning and scrubbing elbows and souls.
It is embalming,
and finally a humbling,
chilling
shroud.

Death is a loss.
A tragedy, an emptiness.
A longing, a void.
Death is regret,
is pain,
is grief, without measure.
It is guilt unresolved.
It is duty unfulfilled.

It is a forgiveness,
A reconciliation with self, family and the Divine.

Death is memories.
The good times.
The younger, stronger days of old.
The mental photo album
The parties, the repartees, the picnics and the rapport.

Death is life.