April Poetry: On a Dark Horse Riding
Poem #8 for National Poetry Month
This poem is one of the oldest of my published poems. I wrote it shortly after the death of my grandmother, my Nana, in 2001. She was the one who provided most of my care during my childhood. After my parents divorced, I saw very little of my father or his side of the family. I was an only child and only grandchild, living with my mother and her mother.
During my lifetime, I stood as witness to the deaths of every one of my family members. I lost, in order – my maternal grandfather, my oldest maternal uncle, my paternal grandmother, my younger maternal uncle, my mother, and my Nana. By the age of 33, I attended more funerals than I cared to remember. Not included above, some friends who passed away much too young.
Thus, I ended up “the last one standing on the hill.”
This was originally published in The Raven Review.
On a Dark Horse Riding By Dawn Levitt I saw Death, on a dark horse riding, high and haughty and proud. Prancing and dancing he came to me, black hooves tapping the ground. Grand mane unfurled like a midnight sea, his dark lips fleck with foam. I thought he had come in search of me, to whisk me away home. But, alas, he only paused to laugh, flaunt disdain in my face, then he turned to point his crooked staff – took another in my place. His bones rattling a merry sound, ribald with deathlike glee, he swept up the other he had found and turned his back on me. I cried after his retreating form, entreating him to wait, but my flesh insisted it was warm, denying twisted fate. Alone I wait and alone I stay, he takes them one by one. When he has carried them all away, my waiting shall be done. As the last one waiting on the hill of dirt above their graves, I will stand here – quiet, small, and still. the last one that he saves. Originally Published in The Raven Review Volume V, Issue IV, October 2024