Death Barged In
by Kathleen Sheeder Bonanno

In his Russian greatcoat
slamming open the door
with an unpardonable bang,
and he has been here ever since.

He changes everything,
rearranges the furniture,
his hand hovers
by the phone;
he will answer now, he says;
he will be the answer.

Tonight he sits down to dinner
at the head of the table
as we eat, mute;
later, he climbs into bed
between us.

Even as I sit here,
he stands behind me
clamping two
colossal hands on my shoulders
and bends down
and whispers to my neck,
From now on,
you write about me.

Oh, I love this one! It's one of my favorites of this year's Poem-A-Days. "and whispers to my neck" is the line that kills me.

Yes. I felt shivers reaing those last two lines

can I ask why the death poem?

Why not? I think it's a good poem. Generally, personification of Death poems turn me off. It's been done so often. But I thought this one was exceptionally well done. Would you have poets not write about death? It's part of life.

This is probably my favorite of the Poem-a-Days, too! I usually don't like death poems very much (not since I was much younger...), personified or not, but there's something crisp and new about this particular poem. The Russian raincoat and Death's imposing demeanor brings to mind a character in one of my favorite movie adaptations: Rod Steiger's Komarovsky in the 1965 classic, _Dr. Zhivago_.

I really like this poem, especially the second stanza. And the "whispers to my neck" line.

Great poem, Ruth. Thanks for sharing.

Glad you liked it too, Harley and Jo and Waven.