She will remember him, won’t she?

When she opens up the cupboard door

To set the place for tea.

One less setting, one empty chair.

Twisting excruciating in her belly,

Cutting across her throat…

He will not be there.

She will remember him, for sure…

in the quiet when she cannot sleep –

in that enormous bed.

The pillow uncrumpled and clean.

No point in anticipating his soft touch.

No breathing beside her…

where he would have been.

She will remember him, I know…

when the grass is growing much too long -

in the garden, alone -

beside the smart new sandstone wall.

One more job accumulating without him…

when she will give anything

to have him… that is all.

She will remember him, I know…

when we have all gone away today -

the day he was lowered -

back to the rich and ginger grime,

as her house echoing with spoken tears

and our nervous laughter,

gives her memory… time.

But most of all… she will remember him… won’t she?

© 2022 Griffonner