peanut butter sandwiches

Everyone said noted how well Thelma
took it when Daddy died;
she stood at the head of the line
and cracked very wise.
She shook every hand
and patted the weepers
and kept both her eyes that dry.
“She’s a brick,” they all said,
“a stone wall.”

A month later I saw her
at the grocery store.
I hadn’t seen her there
since the funeral.
She was chatty as ever.
I wanted to catch up
maybe get one of her
famous recipes. I noticed
she’d lost some weight.
I asked her just how she
was eating.
“Well, I don’t cook much
now that he’s gone you know;
I can’t stand the leftovers
building up in the fridge.”
I asked what she ate
instead of food.
She changed the subject, but
I noticed a jar of peanut butter
and the loaf of bread
was all she had in her basket.
I’m asking her over.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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