Death Moved In

Death moved in the other day.
A soft knock on the front door
and there he stood.
No invitation.  No welcoming party.
Expected, but no champagne.
He will stay, he said, "just a little while."

The sacred inevitability.
Friend?  Adversary?
I am reluctant to fluff his pillow
or serve him orange juice in the morning.
I know what is about to happen.
When he packs his bag to go,
he will pack an additional one.
When he walks out the door to leave,
he will take half of my heart with him.
This is, for him, a number on a list,
a stop on the road.
For me, the slow unraveling of my
reality, tearing apart the fabric
of my soul.

He will leave me with memories and madness.
I will watch them disappear around the corner
and I will weep.