Months To Years Winter 2019 Months To Years Winter 2019 - Page 50

Romantically: I walk under a painter’s ladder but without my rabbit’s foot. I stride forward, my skull meets aluminum, and splat, like a paint drip I greet drop cloth. In the shadow of the ladder of death I look up into the dark eyes of a man who could have been my lover. I wonder if watching paint dry would have been exciting. Painfully: I am plowed down by a quiet train and there are bits of me scattered on the tracks like dice on a table, but honestly I’m still alive, and not impressed with the white coats poor at jigsaw puzzles. While the wheel still procrastinates on my body a bystander holds my single attached hand and says, “Don’t worry it’s going to be OK.” Just before I die I wonder if he needs new glasses. Naturally: Because I do, you do, have to, eventually die, naturally. KL Bissenden writes a column for seniors and their caregivers, and works as a companion for seniors in their homes or facilities, where death is inevitable. She has been published in various genres in print and online. Having escaped near death, she writes black humor as an outlet. She studied creative writing at the University of Victoria. When she ’s not writing, she enjoys gardening. 56 50