Death does not care about your gender, race, ethnicity, or socio-economic status.
Death, like any virus, shapeshifts, mutates, and has superior intelligence.
Yet, it throws a more powerful blow to those disenfranchised.
The howls of grief from your loved ones sound the same.
Death to many is a reprieve from life, to others, it’s an oh fuck there’s so much more I have yet to do.
Its presence hovers.
There is a sense of knowing, either you surrender to it or fight it with every breath in your body.
It has a scent and even a face, a death mask called by some.
You warned us, you gave us time to prepare.
A collective ignorance won over the harsh reality of what was to come.
Death is a nanoscopic intruder and attaches itself to the ones we love.
This is a eulogy for the ones we were not able to touch, kiss, and say goodbye to.
Poem #28 of 28
*In Memory of Erica Watson, February 2021