Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum.

When the sun is shining, and the air curls through the skeleton’s of trees,

You don’t expect bad news.

or any news, really.

Da-dum. Da-dum.

You don’t expect to hear yourself saying the words out loud.

She’s dead.

Gone.

Da-dum.  

Your own heart feels terror, anger, passion,

but also numbness.

Also nothing.

Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum.

Death is hot and cold.

Nothing cold about the hot bodies pressing in,

hugging you, holding you, healing you.

Da-dum. Da-dum.

Nothing cold about the hot guilt that rushes in,

guilt about things said,

things unsaid…

Da-dum.

Nothing warm about holding your best friend,

in the cold, rainy street,

when she learns that her sister is dead.

Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum.

Nothing warm about driving clothes to the funeral home

having them tell you that the dress “won’t do…”

because of the scars on the body.

Da-dum. Da-dum.

Nothing warm about looking down in the casket.

Seeing a friend, a sister,

so lovely she could be Sleeping Beauty,

Da-dum.

No right place to be during death.

Not alone in a crowded room.

Or just alone.

Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum.

No good time to notice,

your own heart is only ticking

until it stops ticking.

Da-dum. Da-dum.

Our lives are beautiful and ugly.

Short and sticky,

long and sweet.

Da-dum.

One moment is forever,

when someone’s heart

stops.