Widow's Mite Poem by Jonathan Alford
Widow's Mite
Rating: ★3.0
She is drowning evermore.
Black dresses rivet when the wind blows.
Drops are gliding down your cheekbones.
This corpse, it slumps its way to Hades.
Dear God, I beg, let her sleep at my shoulder
Under wooden sheets- we’ll dream eternity.
Or bear me new body in infancy;
I will find her in old age, a tired widow.
And she will recognize my touch.
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4/25/2024 7:07:52 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Jonathan, I like that. Short and dark but a vision.