Picture her, afraid
as they produce a weathered cord
and wind it once around her neck. Death
swinging methodically above the floor,
demanding signs of regret
for truthful words she truly meant.

Stretch to think of what it means
to no longer be afraid,
to shake those feelings of regret,
that snare you like a rusted cord,
barbed and mangled on the floor,
hooking only thoughts of death.

I was four the first time I caught death,
discovered what it really meant:
bare feet on a tile floor,
metal prongs, a bathroom outlet. Unafraid,
I wrapped the cord
around my neck (too young to comprehend regret).

“It appears she might have had regrets”,
they spoke of my mother’s death.
The phone swung from a tangled cord.
Imagine what this could have meant!
I did not picture her afraid.
They found her on the kitchen floor.

My teacher’s eyes looked to the floor
that creaked beneath us with regret.
“I am afraid
that there has been a death,
A careless one that will have meant
eternal suffering, for sure. She took her life of her own accord”.

This is the first time I have seen you, cord
sprawled out across the kitchen floor.
Through the air (I think) I see a lost phone call meant
for me. It whispers cool, without regret:
“Nothing - is beautiful like death.
You do not have to be afraid.”

I pick the phone up off the floor, hang it up, remove the cord.
Not afraid, no regrets.
Death is all the action meant.