I'm Going to Die

I'm going to die
And I'm okay with that,
Because so are you.

If I alone were bound to this fate,
The first and last to feel death's icy breath,
My body alone to enter the earth—
In a graveyard of one—
I probably wouldn't be okay with it,
But I'd likely be rather disgruntled.

I'd feel cheated,
Seeing all the children on the playground
Jumping around and squealing—
Knowing that my own jumps and squeals
Would last only a lifetime.

I'd likely spend a lot more time
Thinking about death,
Puzzling over its causes and workings—
Its philosophy and physiology—
Than I do now.

As a child
I probably would have sat at dinner,
Looking down at my plate,
Twisting my noodles with my fork
Around and under
Around and under
In an existential manner.

When I felt enough courage,
I'd look up and ask my silent parents
Why I alone must go
Instead of growing old forever.

They would then look—
Not at me—
But at each other,
With that look of worry
Created from the lack of something profound and consoling to say
When they most needed it.

But since this is not the case,
My mother looks at me across the table
And kindly says,
"Everybody's going to die."
And we all smile at each other
And continue eating.