Some of you may remember me mentioning my baby brother is a storm chaser. Apparently, NBC contacted him to star a reality storm chasing show for this fall season. While these things can always fall through at a moment’s notice, he’s currently in the process of filming. So imagine the irony last night when I unintentionally drove under a funnel cloud last night on my way home from visiting with my sons. As I pleaded with the funnel to not touch the ground, I could imagine my brother’s possible fall show’s ratings skyrocketing as his older brother is killed by a twister–the weird things we think when our lives are on the line, eh?
Anyway, my close encounter with death last night has influenced today’s prompt. I want you to write a poem about your own death. You can write as if you are already dead; imagine what dying might be like; explain what happens after you die; etc. The main thing I want, though, is that you focus on your own death–not someone else’s.
Now, here’s my poem for the day.
My uncle was alone on his land when
his heart stopped; my grandfather alone when
he fell over; my friend was alone when
deciding to lay across the train tracks,
that it had gotten to that point. When I
am alone, I am terrified something
horrible is rushing my way, something
searching to give me my special time when
the end will fall over my story, when
my heart’s soundtrack will stop, or even when
I will move on to that next something. When
the birdsong rushes back from the south and she
calls out my name, I know my something when
will wait until the end, until tomorrow.