One Widower's Lament

by Connie C

Four tubes of lipstick standing tall,
the lipsticks she would use each day.
For five long months they've not been touched,
not since I watched her slip away.

Inside the closet hang her clothes.
So orderly, they are arranged.
Some bear the scent of her perfume.
Within this closet, nothing's changed.

Her slippers near the closet door
remain there where she left them last.
I'll pick them up when comes the day
that I can look beyond the past.

At bedtime, I will often fluff
the pillow where she lay her head.
Then I begin my sleepless night
residing in this empty bed.

I hold her picture close to me
and talk to her though she's not here.
Don't pity me because I know
that in my heart she's somewhere near.

I'm told, in time, my loneliness
will run its course and then subside.
For now, my dreams are of the day
when once again I'm by her side.

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This poem is based on a conversation I had a few days ago with my 92-year-old neighbor who recently lost his wife of 65 years. He told me he didn't want others to pity him because he finds comfort in his memories of a happy marriage. She was a great lady, and they were a beautiful couple.
Thank you for reading.

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Dealing with the loss of one's wife

One Widower's Lament

by Connie C

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