Chanel No. 5
what I think death will be like
I imagine at the end of my life
when the stars whisk out of sight
and everything quiets down
like an old radio, I'll slip on death
like it's my grandmother's cardigan,
unfamiliar but warm after a cold day
and nothing like I imagined it to be
but smells faintly of Chanel No. 5 and
the ghost of a hug I've longed for
since I last remembered what girlhood
was before life kidnapped me away
to responsibilities almost too heavy to bear
but I did bear them and now here I am,
slipping on my grandmother-cardigan-applause
as I bow to myself at the end
of all that I ever was and will be, taking in
my last breath that was both my first
as I finally close my eyes for the
first and last time and finally leave
and arrive home.
About the Creator
R.C. Taylor
I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.
Follow along for stories about a little bit of everything (i.e. nostalgia and other affairs of the heart).
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Llion the Brave Version 2
Her screams diminished as Llion was dragged away from the cell. The stench in the corridor was less but there was still damp, decay, defecation, death. His feet dragged, like a raggedy puppet, the guard either side of him holding him fast. He could feel their individual fingers digging into his scant flesh, leaving their impression on his bones.
By Rachel Deeming6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
I agree 100% with Paul. I love how you tied a warm and positive beginning with a welcoming and positive ending. And there is nothing better than grandma’s hugs!
Oh, beautiful. Incredible flow and just this conversational almost breezy, elegant flow. Loved it!