My friendship with Death by Nicol Gowar

Nicol Gowar | Nov 15th, 2022 | poetry | No Comments


I remember wondering where
your journey would end
and, in some ways, where
it would begin once
this disease has ravished
your bones and made
a home
in your skin.

I kneel at the gravestone and
place the old flowers to
one side—careful not
to stir their vigil.

Some tend to
rush death.

Death is an old friend
joining me in your bedroom
before I placed the
last kiss on your cold skin
every evening.

He would accompany me
to the bookshelf where
I would take your
photo album and create
elaborate stories of you
as the knight in
shining armour slaying
the dragons that soon
became the demons you
fought in your waking hours.

Death would glance over my shoulder
and begin to squeeze my smile
and mangle my memories of you.

I would shut the album and place it back
on the shelf and retrace my steps
to your bedroom.

The passage was a never ending spiral.
Death would lead—as though
he knew the way to your room so well
that it was almost a
natural change of the guard.

I remember the day you died.
I tip-toed
out the room whilst
death was caressing your
face. I took a few steps back and
gently nudged the door closed
and rested my
spine against the frame.

I knew my friendship with you
had ended and your friendship with
Death was just beginning.

Poet Bio

Nicol Gowar is an English teacher by day and a literary explorer by night. She relishes in the stories people offer her through their daily travels. She has been published in New Contrast Literary Magazine.

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