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.
This reminds me of my dad.