Behind the Door

Insistent banging from the hallway
Made me venture out,
As, curious, I had to know
What was that noise about?

I saw some people gathered ‘round
A nearby neighbor’s door:
The super, other neighbors, cops –
I figured out what for.

An older woman, sweet but frail,
Was out of touch, friends said;
So they were breaking down her door
To see if she was dead.

I’d spoken to her many times,
Most often, on the street;
But also by the elevator,
Where we’d sometimes meet.

She used a walker or a cane
And loved to go outside.
I thought about her spunk –
And then her death was verified.

That’s how it goes – one day you’re here,
The next day you have passed.
You never know which conversation
Might just be your last.

It gives you pause and makes you think
That life is surely fleeting,
And how much time we waste on thoughts
Inane and self-defeating.

How quickly, though, this knowledge
Disappears and leaves instead
The fantasy we’ll never be
The one who ends up dead.