Death Was

 

 

                         Death was darkness, or so I presumed,

                         It could just as well have been light.

                         I was running down a hospital corridor

                         My breath was a sickly ether

                         I was in a white coma,

                         Tinged with rose.

 

 

                         Death was forever without moving

                         In a box, or so they say.

                         I was standing

                         The eternal mendicant

                         With arms outstretched,

                         I called and called.

 

 

                         Death was the stillness

                         Or was it noise unlistened?

                         If I could only be sure,

                         Rock and roll in a college diner

                         The coke machine was working,

                         Nobody was there.

 

 

                         Death was cessation of memory

                         There was no pain and no joy.

                         I was dehydrated

                         Instead of laughter, a dry hacking cough.

                         I wanted to cry, but there were no tears

                         Only particles of dust.

 

 

                         Death was continuance

                         Of what had gone on

                         Before the living gap,

                         Before the fetus and the womb.

                         I was back in my own time warp,

                         I tried to remember.

 

 

                                                           Jack Mashman

                                                           1982