She was telling me how she opened the cupboard
\nunder the sink and a bottle of bleach fell out and
\nsmashed on the stone floor: broken glass all over.
\nAnd bleach. Now she’s afraid she’ll drop something else.
\nAfraid the kids might fall or\u2014 not like the wooden floor.
\nShe thought the renovations would cheer her up,
\nfill the empty space that his huge frame used to hold.<\/p>\n
She was playing cards with a little smile on her face,
\nbut I thought she looked pale, and she dropped the cards
\nmore than once, as if she was really not there to hold them.
\nAnd she’s let herself go: no makeup, no smile to speak of
\nexcept for that habitual not-grin. Not that she really
\nlooks at anything. She goes through the motions, sits
\nat the table with us, but she’s not really there.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
A friend observed the anniversary of her husband’s death recently. (#983) Continue reading