Widowhood

For days after her new status as a widow
she did not look at her body, now going into celibacy,
she did not comb her hair, nor change her clothes,
for some of him – a faint odor only she knew, a memory of his last breath –
was still there, to be remembered, to fade slowly, melting with fragrances
of other people’s daily lives.

She had no time to think much about all this,
for things had to be arranged and dealt with, the coffin chosen.
But later, after the turmoil and the upset had calmed down,
she found time to look in the mirror and it came to her
she was a different woman now
in clothes he had never seen her in. In a time never to be his.

As day by day, with every eye blink, every sunrise,
life returned to her in useless opportunities and goals,
challenging her curiosity and vows,
she learnt to accept
that scents were new for her to enjoy. That her body
was moving on and that she was still herself.

 

Comments on: "Widowhood" (10)

  1. nettie Schroders. said:

    Ina wat een mooi gedicht.
    Hier kunnen zich veel mensen in herkennen.
    Hier kunnen ze veel troost uit halen, echt super mooi.
    Lieve gr Nettie

  2. Absolutely stunning…..perfect to the core….and perfectly clear. Love it and you.

  3. This is so full of the most beautiful and sensitive observations which few among us are capable of noticing or encapsulating in words with anything like this subtlety of expression or sensitivity. Awe inspiring!

  4. It is good that you are now in a position where you can write something like this. I like it, but more importantly I appreciate it.

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