THE YOUNG WIDOWER

The young widower arises

From the nearly flat

Oceanic expanse of blue and white sheets

And wishes for roiling, as they had been before.

The young widower arises

Cold feet to cold kitchen

And takes down a cup, one of many

Matched by color, in one of two names.

The young widower arises

To claim the daily paper

Marking another passage of the moon through night

And the haughty arrival of another day.

The young widower peruses

The deaths and the courts

And also births and weddings, faint smile

At the easy procession of unquestioned routine.

The young widower reflects

On their meeting in college

In knowledge that, had they known the brevity,

They still would have artfully managed to live.

The young widower recalls

The seeking of blessing

From God and humanity, constructed in stone,

A simple marker in a weeded field.

The young widower sighs

At the mad whirl of faces,

Dancing in a space paid for dearly

And held dearly in memory ‘gainst the cold grip of earth.

The young widower glances

At the gleaming container

Hard fought for the right to have, burn and cherish

So many broken bones now brought to ash.

The young widower turns

To go forth in the world

that anonymously killed one thought anonymously loved…

But he proclaims their names in love.

December 5, 2011