Widower's House

Maybe it is the nicotine,
but I feel a need to cry.


The air in the house is stagnant
with the texture of  a woman,
dead in the last year.  I was sent


here for 10 dollars an hour
to clean up after a kitchen fire.


My rag turns sienna
as I wipe away her finger prints, 
and empty the sugar bowl.


|Back |