Death isn’t a stranger.

She’s right next to me and always has been.

I see her in the weepy eyed cat who cries for company at night at the Airbnb then runs away.

I saw her in my mothers bed last year. My mother asked to go with her.

She’s Wily that death; a bitch, a muse, blonde, brunette, redhead whatever you need. she’s loyal.

she’ll never leave; to me she rides a motorcycle into the night – her long silver curls blowing in the breeze.

She’s  brazen, brash…ready.