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yeah, Death—
here we are again in this long-distance relationship.
i’ve tried this before, so tempting but
in the end...well,
Martha says,
“this is all going to end badly.”
“You either trust him or you don’t, ”
she says.
And, Death,
i don’t trust you.
you breeze in with elongated stares and stories and
everything loose about those lives you could muster out of me—
the dreams and things that linger
in the cracks and corners
where the love forgot to look...
but i’m not calling you back.
i’ll not fall in this time, fall in
love with you, Death, because
i know
you have only rotten fruits and labors and
pains
holding up the other end of the line.
yeah, a suicide is one thing,
but let me have just one empyreal memory, or—
one concrete still,
one image to develop
of one of these victims, faces,
friends, forgotten because
you won’t let me trust your process.
i don’t mourn, Death, because
i know
they are not just gone, those two
they were never here
just as the illusion of some long-distance caller
forms some semblance of veracity, then
disappears
Dies.
Death be not proud because
i know
you’re not taking anything
from me.
Julia Englund
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