Avalanche

This is not
the last poem I will write

-though it might as well be.

Pen in hand -
I've run out of things to say -
so instead of writing

I should wash dishes instead.

Standing in front of the sink
running water and clinking dishes
drowning out the worries of the day,
week,
month,
year,
lifetime.

Each moment passes
stranger than the last.

Each day passes
with a new lesson learned.

Year after year, ticks by
like snowflakes
quietly building up
in a drift outside,
until I wake at 90
and realize an avalanche buried me
during the night
locking me in, or worse.

I stand in front of the sink
this moment
at 29
overwelmed by the mere thought
of living to be 90 - and more than
a little scared.