Let It Be A Dance Poem by Ester Prudlo

On damp mornings as I count Arthritic joints
I know that neither burial or cremation is going to hurt,
That I won't notice it as the heartbreaking undertaker smashes around in my chest.
Now that the minutes are so long and the years so short,
I hold tight to life, but I am courting death.

Death's attraction is a slow dance,
'Getting to Know You' one step at a time, until the body is sure.
No extreme procedures.
With multiple forgettings
The senses fade.
I can't hear you now.
I see more clearly without the cataracts.
Food may be the last of small pleasures.
Bring on the hot sauce!

When it's time, let me waltz away in the arms of death,
Breathing slowly and deeply.
No wires, no tubes, no ticking machines.

Let me feel the rhythm until the last beat-
fade into the welcoming dark.