I've been wanting to write this poem for awhile. It's been sitting in my head, patiently waiting. It comes from a couple of conversations Tigrette had with me regarding death. At one point her fascination was so strong with all the possible ways to die my mother sat me down and wondered if it was normal for a 6 year old to continue these discussions. All this time, I thought she was expressing her creativity... what do I know? She's as well adjusted as she's going to be considering the personality of the one raising her.
all the ways to die
maybe it is the three cemeteries
on the one road from one side of town to another
but she starts the conversation
there are plenty of ways to die:
you can fall off a mountain,
slip in the shower, be killed in a car accident.
there’s a chance of dying if you are flying,
if there’s a fire in your home and you are asleep.
you could be dancing and have a stroke,
or your heart could be sick and stop pumping.
you could be shot in the head
or have an operation and not wake up.
you could stop breathing or choke on dinner,
poison in the food you eat
or slip and fall on a knife while cooking.
you know, most ways to die are kind of loving.