Death Came For Me

Death came for me one June day. A patch of darkness silhouetted by the early summer sun. Her hands sweaty with wet grass and sprinkler dew. I stood tree-like, moving barely a branch. She approached and I rustled. I smiled and she winked. I bowed and she walked by.

In October she was back. A wrath as thin as a voice on the wind. Her cowl covered with colored leaves. Her shoes buckled with newly tilled earth. I sat on the porch swing and whistled. She walked up and I stopped. I spoke and she answered. I stood and she retreated.

December came and death returned. A hot breath in a room cold as paving stone. Her blue eyes filled with old tears and eternity. I danced a jig and clapped my hands. She nodded and I snapped my fingers. I sang and she hummed along. I leaned forward and she opened her arms.