Sunday, October 17, 2010

Her Memory

The speaker in this poem is a man who is grieving the loss of his wife:

After her funeral, my wife's scent lingered in our home

Her robe, our sheets, the closet's air, her dirty towels

I was alone, but not left alone. Her smell haunted me.

One night I sat on the couch with her ghost,

I closed my eyes, wanting to sense her, wanting to hold her

I went to her side of the closet,

Held the blouse she wore before leaving that night,

And breathed in the floral fragrance absorbed by the collar

I grabbed her purse hanging on the door,

I breathed in the smell of her last stick of spearmint gum,

her lipstick, the bottle of perfume, her vanilla chap stick,

I breathed and breathed, closing my eyes each time,

to make a better memory. I did so until her purse was empty.

By. Rebecca Houston

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