The deal

The eyes saw all, but look surprised
to see the reaper in this early hour.
The sunset not quite ready for the day
is mean enough to hold back on the dusty beams
that always were his reason to arise.

The reaper hesitates to make the crucial gesture.
There is still time for some negotiations,
so it seems. What is discussed, nobody knows,
but in the end, the curtains close.

“He looks surprised,“ his feeble grandson says
the next day when the mourners come
to shed some tears.
The reaper, standing in the corner, smiles.

The deal is done.
He will not come to get this child, not
for a hundred years.

Mist

Doubt sneaks up
slowly, a mist
between you and me
on a deserted beach.
I’m blinking twice;
you are gone
perhaps
or not.

Becoming mother

Days when inside you
a new person is growing,
are longer days, intensely;
more than before,
you are aware of life
and how fragile it is,
feeling its strength
in every fiber of your existence
as a bond is achieved
and now you know
how the chain is forged,
why you cry
over spoiled milk and daisies.
It has always been so
for mothers to be.