Death Barged Inby Kathleen Sheeder Bonanno In his Russian greatcoat slamming open the door with an unpardonable bang, and he has been here ever since. He changes everything, rearranges the furniture, his hand hovers by the phone; he will answer now, he says; he will be the answer. Tonight he sits down to dinner at the head of the table as we eat, mute; later, he climbs into bed between us. Even as I sit here, he stands behind me clamping two colossal hands on my shoulders and bends down and whispers to my neck, From now on, you write about me.