Some Evenings Near Death.

Some evenings near death
As you settle down
Sitting at the window
Looking at the town
As the sky begins
To darken overhead,

You try to imagine
What it may say
On your gravestone,
What epitaph will be written
And by whom, and what dates
And will they get

Your name right:
Abigail Horowitz,
(The Nazis did;
They were very
Meticulous with written
Documents and names.)

And have the service
Done precisely
With appropriate prayers,
And the rabbi present,
Of course, even though
Your faith had faded much

In youth and middle age,
Recently you’d captured
Something of the essence
Once again. You imagine
A storm and heavy rain;
Imagine friends

And what relatives are left
Around your grave
With umbrellas and coats
And getting wet and waiting
For it to be over soon,
Hoping your end was quick

And peaceful, even if
It wasn’t so. Some evenings
As you go to sleep,
Your eyes tired from
A fruitless day, you imagine
Your funeral with coffin
Screwed down and hope
To God the survivors stay away.