Death found us that day,
in the pub as we drank
and someone broke the news of your collision.
Death pulled up a stool and joined the conversation.
Death listened, caught the hollowness
behind the jokes, the catching laughter.
Death saw the silences lengthen,
said nothing to fill them. Death did not
whisper in our ears, did not
remind us he was there.
He didn't need to.
He sat and watched
as glasses emptied,
listened to the bell ring
the dry snap
of the jackets we shrugged on,
followed each of us back
down our separate roads home.
* * *
I was going to blog about the launch of By Grand Central Station We Sat Down and Wept tonight, but when I got back home I was told by my mother that the doctors treating my grandmother, who has suffered for a long time with a narrow heart valve which is causing blood to pool in the heart, have concluded that her condition cannot be cured. She is dying, and it is now only a matter of time.
This blog has been quiet for a while. It may be quiet somewhat longer.