When I think about the death of my parents
Of those I love
I’m overcome with repudiation.
It will never happen
Not me
Not to me
But maybe it can’t be avoided.
And who will it be?
Can I deny the inevitable until it becomes reality?
Who first?
Why them?
Why me?
Why not me?
And then what?
What will I do?
What happens next?
Cry at the funeral?
Know they’re “in a better place”?
Be consumed with self-loathing?
Filled with regret?
Why this?
Why now?
A shadow that I can’t shake.
A thick vapor that chokes.
The invisible talons that dig into my chest
Clutch my lungs and squeeze.
And I’ll sweat and weep
And it won’t be very poetic.
But if it happens
When it happens
I think I’ll have a lot of questions.