Death and Beth
By Kathryn Atkins, Long Beach Branch
As Death takes breath from Beth
Beth muses: What did I do?
How did I be me and not Sue?
Where was I a blessing to my peeps?
Where was I a drag—without any sleep?
Did I attain my loftiest goals?
Did I leave any gaping holes?
Did I say words that caused hurt?
The ones I wish I could cover with dirt?
Most of all, did I achieve my purpose?
Or instead, am I leaving a surplus
Of gifts not used, my time abused,
A life of being recused; a coward to my muse?
Did I back away from living?
Did I take, or was I ever giving
Of my soul, my Self, my heart, my brain,
Or did I biff it, and I have to do this again?
My family, my friends, my kids, my dog
If they and she could talk would they log
Praise and love and gratitude very proudly
Or blaspheme my existence,
“I’m glad she’s gone,” they’d say loudly.
“So, Death, you gorgeous witch, what comes now?”
“Well, Beth, you clever girl, would you really allow
A chance for a do-over; a second or third bow?
It’s a flick of a switch.
I can do it now!”
“I don’t understand, Ms. Death, ARE you a witch?
Are you giving me another chance?
To do a different dance?”
“You sound interested, Beth, so I’ll tell you the rules.
You’ll not remember this life.
You’ll not have the same tools.
The people you meet will all be new,
No one from this life will remember you.”
“Thanks, Death, my friend, for making me this deal.
But I’m done. It’s over. I will not pause to kneel.
At the altar of Fate.
Giver of good and bad.
Whilst this one’s not been perfect,
I’ll keep the life I had.”
~ Kathryn Atkins (© 2020)
describes this as “very close to the poem that appeared in
My Piano Hands, A Flash Memoir Collection,”
by Kathryn Atkins (published July 2020).