She bustles in, weighed down with his clean underwear,
pyjamas, barley water and boiled sweets,
his reading glasses, now repaired,
holding back wisps of her grey hair.
She has to catch the bus at the same time every day
and sit for hours, making repetitive small-talk
with a man who doesn’t know her name,
has forgotten, in his sickness, vows
and promises they made in health.
He struggles to identify her, he’s swearing,
and she can’t fit into the dress that she was wearing
in the framed photo on the bed-side cabinet.
She clings white-knuckled to what they had,
a broken-hearted, lonely wife
longing for the intimacy of their bed
and the comfort of a once-shared life.
Kim M. Russell, 2017
Image found on Pinterest
My response to dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night