The taste of the small coal I kept swallowing
Came back up, burning, and I swallowed
Once more. One more day, the sun a coal
Coming up at dawn. I thought of Anne
In her Mercury Cougar, glass of vodka
In one hand, traveling with the garage door
Closed. Can’t go that way anymore. Exhaust
From a Prius couldn’t dizzy a dog. Nowadays,
Guns and opioids take ten times the minds
Used to surrender to tailpipes and alcohol.
Nowadays, if you want to fall, might as well fall.
I’ve never met a Mr. Death, except in a mirror
Maybe. Those eyes. I’ve been married to two
Deaths, fifteen years altogether. My first
Death steadily devoured herself until she was
Entirely gone, her own coals gone to ashes,
Six little urns, one for her, one each for unborn
Daughter, daughter, daughter, two for pets.
Nothing else left. Whereupon, the second
Mrs. Death, her twin, quickly slipped in
And began devouring me instead. It’s taken
Her a while. She’s a very particular eater.
I’ve never been healthy enough for her.
She nibbled me around the corners and complained
Occasionally the first several years, warily.
I thought I might last her. But she got nearer
My heart and started eating faster. Lately
It’s almost been a race. Can I muster the kick
To get what’s left of me past her, before
It’s too late for any pretense of choice
In the matter, or will she be left like Saturn,
Lips still dribbling, eyes wide with horror,
Nothing else left her? That’s unkind.
She’s not a bad mother. She has a living daughter.
She never set out to be Mrs. Death. Neither
Did her sister. Those dark eyes in the mirror.
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