I gazed at death tonight.

I saw true love.

I saw it in the way the petite woman, with black curly hair peppered by silver, rested her hand gently on his breathless chest and bravely faced the watchful crowd.

I saw it in the defiant tilt of the tired woman’s head as she looked out towards the long line of gawking viewers.

I saw it in tiny, pale fingers as the weary woman gracefully smoothed life-warn hands against each of his cold, lifeless cheeks, once – twice – thrice.

I saw it in the lax lip that quivered while she adjusted an imaginary wrinkle for the last time in his favorite old shirt, once – twice - thrice.

I saw it in the way her face softened and drooped while her remote eyes strained to memorize each inch of his dry face as if she hadn’t seen him every day, all of his life.

I saw it in the way the short woman’s bony fingers familiarly curled in his white, chin hair as she mechanically whispered to a viewer.

I saw it in the way she closed her eyes and wrapped her warm hands in his dead hands and maybe dreamt of a day she once drew strength from his touch.

I saw it in the way the slight woman’s tired, brown eyes seemed far, far away - perhaps in a place where he breathed and she danced.

I saw it in the way the disheartened woman clenched her old, warn, winter jacket snugly around her waist and never turned her proud back to his empty body.

I saw it in the way the she desperately clung to the rungs along his resting bed in an attempt to again deny the reaper his prize.

I saw it in the tears that glistened in her lonely eyes, but would not fall till she lay in their old marriage bed at night - breathing his scent on the frumpy pillow beside her heavy head.

I saw it in the way she looked at me and did not see me.

I then knew, she would not remember me.

I gazed at death tonight.

But I still see her.

--kemper michelle