Death

The quiet where
we sat, waited, pretended
to write notes, but
doodled instead, until

she stood up, asked,
“when is death granted?”

And the quiet
continued, until
he cleared his throat,
looked away, looked at

his own notes, then,
“when death is granted.”

As if that was an answer,
but it was. We transcribed
the words, underlined them.

She sat down, satisfied.

Brina (rinabell) | Sep 10, 09