This is a second poem by my Grandmother Ethel from her scrapbook.
Tag: Marriage
Before Bedroom Light
I wake before light
before bits of sun streak
under shades, memory whole
in this place, this silence
I should thank you more
for life shared
where diapers once were
pitter-patter of feet
us tucked together in
warm white sheets
Lost Husband
she wanted to dig up the body
not his body, but the wooden box
with ashes, he is too far from me
she said, need him closer, away from
rain seeping under dirt, talk never
turned to shovels, chardonnay, chardonnay
and words, words, left him in ground
but he wasn’t there either, missing
husband, reward upon return
she put up signs, but
no one ever called
Daniel W. Polk 