Dealing with Death
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Another Black Kippah The trowel makes a swoosh sound, as it enters the bucket. Scooping up a sample,
My paper guardian, enshrined reminder. Stares back at me, yellowed, formal, kind.
To be set freefrom this guilt, I couldn't helpbut cry for you Every day and nightfor I couldn't save you From the clutches of Death.I only want that to be rewinded
Alone, I am unaided, forsaken, and without a chance. I am struggling, but still not faded; I am striving to maintain my stance. And yet, death draws ever nearer-