I have come to realize,
Death is just a door-step away.
Slowly pacing its glass feet on the slums of the sidewalk,
It creeps its way onto her front lawn,
Filled with burnt grass and silent gnomes.

Carefully, it dusts its fragile feet on the straw mat at the stairs,
And gazes into her bedroom,
With its black olive eyes.
And without hesitation,
And without knocking,
It slithers its ash figure through the white door,
Planting a permanent,
Dark,
Outline of itself,
For all to remember its injustice.
Lastly, it makes its way through her unmarked house,
Leaving behind an impossible trail to clean.

All that’s left is time,
Time before the slippers shatter.
And that’s all I need.