In the End

Inspired by this tweet from PetFurniture.

I want to meet death in the middle.

I want to throw the door open wide and say with a smile,

That it has been a long time coming,

and I am ready.

And say it with mild amusement,

as if it were all a joke between friends.

I want to close the door behind me,

leaving the room clean and tidy.

With no trace that I have stepped lightly from one side to the next.

I hope he has my grandfather's face,

and a worn, blue checked shirt.

That he takes my hand and leaves no space between flesh and bone.

And we walk very slowly,

through the winding paths of memory to a sun-soaked home,

made of warm, rough stone,

with wild, joyful roses tumbling in the garden,

and a still, calm pond before the rusting gate.

I want to go first,

without reservation or fear,

and tap the mud from my shoes on the stoop,

delayed but not too late,

and lie on the rough carpet before the fire like a child.

I hope I can see the bees through the window,

and smell ginger in the kitchen.

I hope it is peaceful.

Like the last hours of a party when the bar is closing down.

Like being carried sleeping from the car.

Like floating in a warm bath with a towel just in reach.

I want to meet death in the middle,

and hold him close like a friend.

And I hope he lingers as I settle,

that he steps in and breaks bread

with the never-ending line of family and friends.

I hope that I am happy when my road comes to an end.