The Night Before She Died She Finished Her Homework

Could you not watch with Me one night?
He said, and what then will He say
To those who spend their nights as I:
Blind to Your calls, deaf to Your hands,
Drunk with animal labor, so as to seem
As one of those who don't know God?

How will they say she spent her last night
Before she went spinning out of time,
Before she shattered into shivering roses?
There are a thousand ways to die
And just a few to live. Sometimes
I smell mine, just above my head, between
The bookcase and the crown molding;
Or in dazed passing taste it, or a trace of it:
Strange honey in the corner of my mouth.

Give me Your Word, show me Your way,
That my soul might live and not die.

Sometimes when I stop or when I wonder,
Sometimes when I cry then I remember
That You want all my startled stoppings,
All my quiet reachings, all my tears -
So it would seem, for You reserved them
At a high price: at the price of blood.

Perdition pulls; tomorrow I may fade;
Intentions drift like vapor; words are gray;
But while we're here, for what it's worth -
Remembering the life You breathed that day -
I will love You with all of my heart
I will love You with all of my mind
I will love You with all of my strength
I'll love You with everything

Date Night

Death came for me yesterday
Maybe on Tuesday, maybe the day before
I said, "Excuse me, but I am very busy
I have some prior engagements
From which I cannot possibly extricate myself."

All the people I ever read about
Tried to put off Death rudely
Waving sharp objects and screaming apologies
No one ever tried speaking politely to Death
I spoke politely, with believable reluctance
And he went away.

But he'll come for me again
Maybe next Tuesday, maybe the day after
"Excuse me, but I am very busy
I have some prior engagements
From which I cannot possibly extricate myself."

That's what I'll say, politely
And he'll incline his head, courteously, ever a gentleman
With the deference of those whose friends
Are suddenly swept up into the social world
They come calling at the door, hoping for old times
And are turned away

But he'll be back
Maybe in a year, maybe the next day
Whenever his desire overcomes his tact
I'll know what to say; I've said it before
Perfected the preoccupied tones
"Excuse me - "

"No more excuses," he'll cut me off
His voice rather different from what I expect
A little girl's voice, or maybe just a snake's
"Yours have run out. Anyway
Were you ever engaged
Which I highly doubt (Check your calendar)
No engagement could possibly be as pressing
As our little affair (Life never is)
We have a date tonight
I'll have you NOW."

In my last defense will I grasp for sharp objects
And find myself brandishing the old umbrella?
Will I scream and scream and scream and scream
(Scream in the countryside: the helplessness of being
unheard and innocent
Scream in the city: the betrayal of being
heard and ignored)?
Anyway, Death will have come for me
And innocent or merely insignificant
helpless or betrayed
I'll have to go.