Today's poem is by Amie Whittemore
We installed another widow
to keep Grandma company.
She came with a parakeet,
or maybe her husband returned,
for it fell from the sky after his funeral
and strutted only when she entered the room.
The widows played backgammon, tried to agree on food.
Still, on Christmas day, Grandma pleaded
I can't go back to that house.
But our hearts are more balance beams than see-saws.
We opened the door, kissed her cheek, not saying much.
What were we thinking? What had we done
but hang bent mirrors before both their faces?
I too would have collapsed on the couch
on a Thursday in March, my shoes slipped off
like toy boats cast free. I too would have left
my body like a hammock, swinging slow.
Copyright © 2017 Amie Whittemore All rights reserved
from Glass Harvest
Autumn House Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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