She asks you in her twittering tongue
About your day, as if it’s not
The worst one of your life.
She’s here to take your soul away.

She giggles like a witch ablaze
And makes you wonder if they pick
The weird ones for the trade.
They do. Whoever told you this made sense was wrong.

She plucks you from your busted shell,
And then, you fly, not walk,
Past painted looks and darkened homes
Into the dreamless eye of morn.

You feel sick. She calms your nerves,
Makes you look away from hellish things
With strange asides and anecdotes
And ears bent open, listening to your soul.

The horrors pass behind you. She smiles,
Gives the a-okay, and asks you if it really was that bad.
You share a laugh. You fly on through that merry sound,
And soon, before you realize, you’re near your journey’s end.

You ask her what she thinks of death.
At that, you’ll hear a fleeting pause,
And if you will, the telling fall
Of her façade. She’s seen this all before.

You can run away now, if you’d like.
She will not think less of you, and if you act
On impulse, she might even wish you
Knowing words farewell. Don’t look back.

She’ll probably remember you,
Although she still forgets her job
From time to time.
A face is more important than regret.

-

Dedicated to Bri Neves