There’s a Table in My Head
There’s a table in my head, still set for four, where you and I would smile with our eyes while our sons – daughters? – shared their lives. The sun would light your curls like a halo every morning, and in the evening…
In the evening, when night felt cold and close, the fire of your soul would warm our hearts to dance.
There are flowers in the courtyard that tell a morbid tale. Sent to ease my grief, they testify to death. They will not grow beyond their pots, nor will my table ever know the love that cannot be unset.