The Widow

The Widow

They always invite her,
And she always accepts,
Though they know
She’d rather not.
She apologizes for being
The first to arrive,
A little too much makeup, 
A little too old a dress, 
But who does she have 
To impress?
She laughs as loudly
As anyone at the table,
Shakes her head also
At the rise of the right.
She eats very little
And drinks even less.
She wears his ring
On her other hand,
And sometimes, 
Having earned 
A quiet moment
After acting engaged,
She spins it a little.
She is living 
A posthumous life.
She isn’t really here —
The vaster part of her
Is in the dark
Earth beside him.
And some night soon,
As on their wedding night,
They will lie on their sides
Facing each other.