She lives in the past
that old woman
her golden years
lived full and well
Every morning she wakes
and dons the same
flower-printed dress
he gave to her
many birthdays ago
It reminds her
of the better years
they spent together
She still makes him breakfast
steak and eggs
tea with honey
but she eats alone
facing an empty chair
with his picture in a
tiny silver frame
It goes in her pocket
when she takes her walks
sometimes the sun
is as bright as his smile
sometimes ice melts
like his tears
off of tree branches
She visits him
at his resting place
gives him the flowers
she picked on her way
or the stone she found
shaped like a heart
She tells him
about her dreams
from the night before
how much she misses him
and she kisses the stone
Every night she lies
frail in her bed
clutching his pillow
his picture beside her
and she cries