There are so-so days

and awful days

and shitty days,

but all have an accompaniment

of unbearable grief…

somewhere healing may be happening,

I can’t tell,

can’t taste food,

can’t get rest from sleep

although exhaustion

leaves me trembling in my bed

his watch on my arm

his pillow under

my lonely head

I was never given to loneliness,

always felt well in my own

company,

but now I mourn his,

his quick wit

and brilliant smile,

cooking which was once

my saving grace

is not available,

boiling water burns,

tomatoes rot,

soups are left to molder

on the counter

there is a raw feeling

in my throat, a plethora

of scalding tears always ready

to plunge

at the smallest detail