THAT FARTHER SHORE

When the angel of death

arrives at my bedside,

like the ferryman

coming around the bend

of the river, plying his oar

with determination,

pulling alongside

and beckoning me in,

When I gaze at him,

my bed the shore,

wondering how to make

my earth-bound body

traverse the space between us

without falling,

I think I will trust

that the air will support me,

entering that bright darkness

interested in discovering

what comes next.

Yes, I think I will trust.

My life has been a voyage

of wonder and amazement.

I have made this journey,

head tipped back,

and grinning at the sky.

Trees have danced for me,

dogs and babies smiled,

my heart brimming with

the dazzle

of this beautiful world,

who performed her best

sunrises and sunsets for me,

draping the mountains

with breathtaking mist,

always whispering

"watch this!" and then,
watch this!"

I have long loved

the stories of people

who rose - and rise -

from their heartbreaking situations

with hearts courageous as lions,

roaring their love of life

even as the hunter

raises his rifle,

not cowering,

walking into the darkness

with full hearts,

with dignity, with pride.

No surrender.

Yet when that dark angel

comes for me,

I think I will surrender.

I will ride that bed-boat

out into the cosmos,

transfixed by all the stars,

wrapped in clouds of transformation,

soaring through the heavens,

breath held in awe.

The river of amazement

will carry me,

as it carried me through this life,

to my next destination,

where I hope I will find loveliness

to equal or surpass

that of this world,

where I will meet

lost loved ones,

and furry tails

will thump in welcome.

At the end, I will say

that, all of my life,

I have loved most

this earth and its beauty.

In trust, I will step into

the ferryman's boat,

ready to see what lies

on that farther shore.

Ha. I may not be that brave at all. We'll see. For my prompt at  What's Going On: Love Letter From the Afterlife,  the luminous life of Andrea Gibson.

A second one on the topic, about which I have written many poems:

I HOPE WHEN IT HAPPENS........

I hope when it happens

I will have finished all the books

I still want to write, will have shared

what I want to share.

I hope my people will read them,

and say, "We thought we knew her,

but there was a large part of her

we didn't know, and didn't understand -

that part of her that other poets knew,

because they read the words from her heart.

I wanted to make something pretty

of my life, but with the ups and downs,

the lumps and bumps, I made

something interesting instead.

I took those things and polished them up,

put them into my poems and books,

left out most of what was black and traumatic

and full of loss. Instead, I remembered

all I was given, how I was helped

and guided, and the people who loved me

till I was better able to love myself.

I hope when it happens,

there will be time to say

all the "I love yous",

look into the eyes of those

I am leaving, say "thank you"

and "Be happy. Laugh lots."

I hope when it happens,

that it will be peaceful,

a soft tide slipping gently

away from the shore.

Based on a poem by Diane Seuss titled "I Hope When It Happens." The italicized lines are hers.