Description: A personal, narrative-driven poem that turns the fear of death on its head. By blending tactile memories of childhood car rides with the unwavering safety of grandparents, the poem reimagines the end of life as a warm, welcoming threshold rather than a final dark unknown.
When death finally knocks upon my door,
I hope it feels like long drives in the dark,
A quiet road when I was nothing more
Than a small child asleep before the stark.
We nestled in the wide, three-seater front,
My head was cradled on my grandma’s lap,
My bare feet resting where my grandpa steered,
A tangled, awkward, deeply restful nap.
Through heavy sleep I’d hear them plot a change,
A sudden detour to the mall’s bright light,
Then grandpa’s arms would lift me, sweet and strange,
And carry me indoors through fading night.
By gabi-umaga, tucked beneath the sheet,
My grandma snored beside me in the gloom,
Till grandpa woke me with his morning sweet
Of mint and coffee, singing through the room.
If death’s a journey, let it feel like this:
The care of those who loved away the cold,
The pandesal, the gentle morning kiss,
The narrow world that three of us could hold.
I hope he waits beside the old front seat,
To pull me close to his familiar home scent,
With crinkled eyes and a smirk that loves me sweet,
To tell me that my restless days are spent.
This was written by our contributing writer, Marga Cortez.
The image was taken by our writer, Marga Cortez.
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