Death

I have seen my death and it is water.  It has spent a
lifetime coaxing me into its company so I will not
be afraid when it comes for me that final time. Or
maybe I am the one who seeks the water knowing
I will need to eventually make my peace with it.

When I was very young I fell head first into a tub
of water. Mother pulled me out, panicked, unsure
how long I'd been under. I only felt its warmth, and
heard it whisper to me. "I will come back for you."

I once had an accident on the water, hitting it so hard
I almost passed out.  When I was pulled from the lake,
bright red blood ran rivers down my wet legs.  And the
water whispered to me, "I am yours and you are mine."

There are times when I have sought out water, waves of
warmth and relaxation soaking deep into my muscles.
I can feel knots untwisting like tentacles letting go of
prey.  The water whispered, "You love me, don't you?"

I have sat, my belly nine months swollen as water pulsed
across it, washing away the waves of pain, down the 
drain, letting me float away to a different time and place.
The water whispered to me, "Come with me this time."

There are times water has invaded my body, going to
places it has no right to be, so we struggle against each
other as my lungs fill.  I cough against the fluids; water
simply reminds me, "This is how I will come for you."