Widow Poem by W.I. Stoneberger

Seems barely old enough
to be a bride
and now her man has died
and alone once more,
but not like before.
Now she has a history
and piles of memory
that carry his scent
in their crevices
covering her at night.

She feels haunted,
her home her head
her heart her bed.
She feels him everywhere
watching her,
speaking in symbols
that only she understands -
she who had lost her man
who has felt herself shatter
and finds her soul torn
and tattered now,
and she doesn't know how
she's going to make it from here
when he's out there.