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Mrs Everywhere


Gabrielle Taylor

I say now death is an unacceptable superstition.
I guess this idea is natural
for one my age, but I'll be thirty sooner
than twenty five (when I'll be even more
untrustworthy than usual)
and the thought remains.
I don't believe it -- I don't believe death, applies to me.
It's effective and some I know
found it irresistible, but I won't let it have me.
I won't be stopped by a tradition.

In most stories where
someone works for love 24 hours a day without a break, like an ice machine,
he gets it for a minute and then it's over: it dies
(and often she dies along with it,
or it catches fire,
and sometimes, it can explode).
It may be satisfying
for you or I to pour out big
shots of his unhappiness from
a bottle with a loose cork (since
his happiness, undemocratically, makes only him drunk)
but you can't have it of me.
I'm giving nothing
to no one, and least of all to death.

I don't know what the dead ones said,
but maybe it didn't occur to them to say no.
Maybe they thought
it was a joke.
Or maybe they realized
denying death is a full time job,
and they weren't built for it.
Maybe they found retirement
unexpectedly compelling? Well,
I can't make you stay.
I can only say
I won't go.

Gabrielle Taylor is a writer, photographer and internet consultant in Ottawa. She operates Moon Farmer, with Shad Muegge, My Toxic Life, and the Hypercube Photo Gallery of Canada. She has an intellectual online game at She is pro love. She wrote this poem for free.

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