Upon Meeting and Conversating with Death

September 10, 2008
By Corrine Link, Hockessin, DE

I had my first confrontation with a man
With skin so tan it looked like leather. His calloused hands
Grabbed mine and his mouth hung open like the
Entrance to a cave. Moist and dark.
His teeth were like the Stonehenge ruins. In shape, size
And color.

The weather forecast called for high temperatures and
Sun but above his head were
Overcast skies. The clouds did not break, but rather feathered
Into each other.

He had an extremely rebellious cowlick, and as he turned
I watched the hair swirl across his skull, until he
Focused back onto my face. His irises were so dark they
Nearly blended in with his pupils, but they still bore holes
Into my own head. I felt a warm trickle down my neck.

And when he finally asked my name, the trickle had turned
To a river, and bore down on my flesh leaving a canyon
Behind, for footsteps. His eyes grew wide as he apologized
And introduced himself as death and said he mistook me
For someone else.

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