Bereaved

Granted, a meeting with her,
on the steps, in the hall, or a
room, granted too, an occasion,
return of a book, a business talk,
casual invitation, what occurred
seemed on the surface scarcely
worth mentioning. She made up
a smile, off hand greeting, an eddy
in the day’s tide. But out of her words
welled tears, grief of eyes overflowing,
cheeks caught in the grimace of the
lonely of heart.
I told her there is the sudden break
called death, and the long suffering
called death, and we are not free
to choose, the end is the same.
Only you can speak for your lonely bed.
You cannot depend on us, the day comes
when you make your wailing wall private,
not to be seen by family or friends,
you keep your passion to yourself,
let the wound heal slowly.

But she was not comforted.