Waiting

She's always preparing
for the worst;
even now, in-between the
calm and the storm.

Yet with unflinching eyes,
she sits quietly,
taking it all in.
Like a cold morning
on the porch with
her coffee.

To her, grief is
a planned process.
Something tangible.
If she can take
enough notes,
and do her research,
she can handle it.

And death,
she knows him.
He's an old friend,
sitting in the corner
of the room as
we speak.

But for this,
she couldn't prepare.
This time, it's
out of her hands.
The deck of cards
given and cursed
at birth.

Now, like a passenger
of a ship, she will wait
for its landing.
And the worst is
yet to come,
but this time
she won't be ready.