October 10, 2019

• widow

  

  there were nights when love
  lit up her lanterns,
  nights when we sat on either side
  of a window
  and whispered love stories
  in the dark

  not all of the stars were falling,
  and in the rosewood cabinet
  there were photographs
  of my loved ones laughing at me
  when i tried on
  a discarded halo

  would it please them to know
  that they live on
  in poetry

  when people ask me
  sometimes i lie
  and say that i am a widow
  then the stars shrink
  like the faces of old men
  and imaginary snakes
  wind around my ankles

  as i climb the hills
  with my hiking stick
  of red cedar, labelled by nature
  and circled by time

  • 6:10 am
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