the evolution of a poem

i wrote this poem last spring.

* * *

‘her hands over his’

Death stood,

cloak billowing in the wind.

she leaned casually on her scythe, her hands folded over themselves,

and watched.

* * *

the window stood open,

soft white curtains billowing in the wind.

the wife helped her husband pull on his shoes, her hands over his, to keep them steady,

and she kissed his cheek.

* * *

Death smiled.

she rose to her full height

and left alone. Continue reading