With the sounds of earth coming alive
Do I call her Me or do I call her You,
This girl with the watery-eyed mother
Don held my string.
He helped me fly
But times change
and husbands die.
I try time and again
to untangle myself
from tree after tree
and whether or not
I find my way in wind
again remains to be seen.
The dog peeks through the mini blinds and bays.
Every day it’s their way of waking up the widow
Before the sun smacks trees out of their shadows.
As the dog curls himself back up into a sleepy ball.
The rabbit, long gone across the neighbor’s lawn
Where soon off will go another four-legged alarm.
She makes her way across the dim, silent house
Past the empty chair that once held her spouse.
And in the murky kitchen light she stands waiting
As hot, steaming liquid spits out a single serving.
One morning the rabbit will sit, the dog will bay
And the weary widow will not wake up that day.
Now, though, she’ll push the fog of loss aside
And go bond with the others running out of time.
Widowhood is a vacuum
sucking tin soldiers off the floor,
swirling them around in a dark void
while other tiny souls still in its path of wrath
struggle to pull its life-line from the wall.