Not all death spirals present as such.
Some move too slowly to prefigure demise.
Not all death spirals start in the sky.
Some start on land, 993 miles apart, and slowly converge, taking
years to draw closer after childhood and adolescence, a slow dance that seemed
to quicken as their metabolisms slowed, to marry late, to conceive late, to
learn of their incompatibility too late, to pull on each other in crisis and
push on each other in stasis, to twist and turn with heels dug until after
decades of digging unabated, through heart surgeries, bankruptcy, chemical
dependency, suicide attempts, sepsis, forced retirement, estrangement,
dementia, and every sub specie of antagonism, they have interred themselves in
adjoining graves, two feet apart, to be trod upon biweekly by maintenance
staff, March-October, and never mourners or respect-payers, to lie lightly in economical
containers, held in place hereafter by the force of gravity rather than their centripetal
codependency.
Til death they did part.
