A poem on death

Down pillows on the bed,
Birthed of your shoulder blades (these tender hills, popping stems)
Birthing your wings.
These you have acquired, along with wrinles and grey and rotting teeth.
Things you have made (babies, loaves of bread, salted meats, an apple orchard)
Things you have earned (a living)
Things you have dreamt (and refused).

I want to help you,
But i won't coddle an angel.

Critique;This piece reflects a life lived and reflected upon. The use of repetition byy the author creates a soothing rhthym, as this reflection occurs not in a stat of panic, but in acceptance and ascendance to death.
The metaphorical growth of wings reinforces the idea of ascendance to whatever after life one accepts; in this case, angel wings tie in to the idea of reaching heaven. It may also convey ideas of a good soul, or a true life lived, while not remarkably, but lovingly.
The narrator of the piece takes on a tone of comfort, yet in the last two lines, "I want to help you/ But i won't coddle an angel," resounds with the idea that death is a personal and individual journey. There is no accompaniment in death.
The poet is exploring the idea os the individuality of death reflected in life; totally personal. And while it is the connections of others that gives life its potency, many individuals surrender their personal rights and personal choices , losing power over the slef. The references to everyday tasks bring this idea to the surface - the everyday and the extraordinary, an the fine line inbetween.