Death, the word

photo by Seth Snap

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Death: the word

Many picture the grim reaper;
when in fact, he’s familiar.

Not hooded, but radiant
with glory’s aura

our ancestors, waiting for us
to welcome us home

to the vast feast, the fatted lamb
the harped music and dance of angels

a divine Father, who sent his son,
to turn death into life, decay into birth.

energy incarnate.

Poem to a Stranger

I dreamed
you moved into my house,
a stranger,
with all your prescriptions,
favorite chair,
all your needs.

There were 60 more,
just like you.

My house was occupied.
My car
phone
pocketbook
taken.

All my personal space.
Privacy.

I stopped breathing…
Afraid to share.

Then my first floor flooded.
We rescued each other.
All of us
familiar,
treading water.