“The fog comes on little cat feet”
is one of my favorite lines.
For you, the fog was a tiger.
You left on Sept. 18, 2013
It’s a foggy death you chose.
You knew you wanted to die.
I have a fantasy of fog:
That I am walking towards the water
in a thick fog
and you emerge.
You say words, explain, convince…
Death was not a fog for you
and all the others who chose it.
It was a sharp knife to cut the pain.
I see you all together.
The suicides under the sea
that we cannot see.
I beat my head on the fog
You can’t hit fog, you can’t swallow fog.
Death swallowed you up that day.
I wait for it to spit you out
So I can see you again as you once were.