Death Takes Many Forms
(2025 Chicago poetry tour edit)
Janet Kuypers
7/31/25 (edited from a 3/4 - 3/11 1998 poem)
It is winter now.
The trees have lost their leaves;
the city is covered in a thin layer of soot and snow.
Nothing is growing anymore.
Death takes many forms.
For you, death first came when you were five years old
and your mother had to give you three shots of insulin a day
until you could take a needle to yourself.
Did it hurt to push that needle into your arm,
or did it hurt you more to know you had no choice?
Death takes many forms.
the signs of death can come as you lose your sight.
Behind coke-bottle glasses you would see me and say,
“That’s a nice black suit you’re wearing.”
And I would tell you, “It’s green.”
And you wouldn’t believe me.
You wouldn’t hear the howling wind of the changing seasons.
It is winter now.
Do you remember when it happened?
The changes are subtle, the temperature drops slightly
It’s almost imperceptible.
Only when the first snow falls do you realize
the seasons have gone.
Death takes many forms.
Death can be a sweat-soaked shirt, the shakes, dizziness
when you needed food.
You would look as pale as a ghost
as I would hold your cold wet arm and steady you.
Quick, some sugar will make everything better.
Isn’t everything better yet?
Death takes many forms.
The signs of death can come
when you lose your circulation.
“My feet are numb, I can’t feel my feet.”
And I would rub your feet for you,
and you would say it makes a difference...
But I said good bye to you to travel my own road,
I didn’t think it was the last good bye —
I knew you didn’t want me to go.
And now it’s my turn.
Are you trying to teach me a lesson?
Because if you are, well,
I’ve learned it. You can come back now.
Death takes many forms.
And now, now it seems
you’ve taken me down into that casket with you
and I’m running my hand along your jacket lapel
and I can feel the coldness of winter all around me
and I can hear them shoveling the dirt over my head
and I want to get out
and I want to take you with me.
It is winter now,
and you once showed me that winter could be beautiful.
Instead of the dark and dirty snow
you showed me a quieting lakeside snowfall —
I told you I hated winters
and you told me, “This you don’t hate.”
Well, I’m still learning.
It is winter now.
And death takes many forms.
The seasons change,
and somewhere
it is snowing.
| 
