Death is your crossing guard

holding your hand

smiling, waving, helping

as you walk,

his big red STOP sign

saving you.

Her quiet grin,

wrinkled face

reminding you,

faintly,

of your grandmother

as you walk across,

hushed.

Death's bright orange safety vest

warns passing cars to SLOW

as children pass,

as adults pass.

Death's kind eyes

crinkling at the corners

fill your heart with warmth

as you pass by,

smiling,

silently.

When every morning

or afternoon

or evening

you pass by,

hoping to see her,

him,

again,

some sense of familiarity

in a place where

familiarity

doesn't

exist.

But every day,

it's someone new

even though

you spend your days

hoping,

waiting.