Dear Death Poem by Vincent James Turner

Dear Death

Forgive me, for at the end of this poem
you shall not see my name
For I fear your sister Fate
Is at times a little over zealous
And I really do love my life
Ok. So you know that’s a lie.
I was on your Christmas list
you may have even
smelt the aspirin frothing vodka puddle
to which I woke
Christmas day.
But things have changed now
I’m sure you’ve noticed
Its been some years since you last
Stood tapping your feet
With rhythmic impatience
As though a father
Waiting for their child to dress.
Before that futile severing of life
You and I met once before
When you tasted my breath
sweet from my mothers milk
It was my right lung,
unformed, deflated.
I was next to her when the bleep
of machine
startled her from her semi-sleep.

Dear Death
May I ask a question or two?
Is the soul still warm
as you pocket it like a just found penny?
And do the blood splattered bones
of a child jutting from beneath
the mangle of steal and foam
ever lay heavy on your mind?
Please, do not feel it necessary
to reply just yet,
save it for some forty years away
reply gently
as I am sleeping
entering me like a dream of youth
taking my breath
as though
a hand scooping sand
from the base of the sea.


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