Butterfly Effect - ressourcesfeministes

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but no sound … I strain to hear but there are only the
faint strains of an accordion, like a circus passing by
on a distant road. She makes the leap as Death cruises
past again and takes her place on the horse-drawn
cart. No backward glance, no regret, simply passing on.
As I turn to leave the world of the dead, my eyes catch
another face I know. No warning and the dead throttle
past me in their rush for eternity.
v
And another and another. Is there no end to the greed
of Death Crossing the road in her prime, Death
steers straight for her. Didn't she notice Did neither
notice Death did. Death stood by the bed for days.
Pushed and pulled by life's will. But Death is a bad loser,
knowing that her endurance outlasts all.
I spin the wheel waiting for the next game.
A pomegranate rudely torn open tempts me, a glass
of red wine is proffered. Souls bristle into the seats nearby,
the storytellers take their place around the table and begin …
May 1994–October 1996