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.