Visitation

Darkness was coming. 
Its travel bags were packed, readied.
Families were informed of itinerary.
Many swept notice into piles of junk mail
to read after the weddings, road trips, 
birthdays, ballgames, conferences, 
and church. 
Some never read it. 
Shame.
Forgetting can hurt.
Forgetting did hurt.
When Darkness arrived, 
it was not the restful stranger
we knew at night.
Darkness was a wisp
of a sneeze in sunlight,
landing in a child's hair.
Darkness was aloft,
a speck in the air.
Some forgot.
Darkness didn't care.
It rooted in dads, cousins, sisters, brothers,
babes, neighbors, 
the old.
It grew like mold.
Shooting out tendrils
riding breaths of millenials
picking out fruit in the produce aisle.
Darkness had no style.
No preference where to thrive.
Darkness came for anyone alive.