Poem: Widower

By: Morgan O’Connor

widower

At sun up she escaped by cab.
I miss her as much as
the time before I knew
the taste of perfect bread,

spice of exquisite soup.
souls proudly inter-floundering,

curl of a pounding wave.
our searches are what I miss.

At noon a text
arrived safe
I knew she would
always does
and back
she always came
cause we missed

the reflecting dunes
grass rubbed on fingers
sand bagged and saved,
spread in rented bed
spent,

before ownership and design
before we knew, before the house

we had each other
music was new
not a whiff
not a memory.

After dinner a call
the hotel is normal,
Yes the missing is strong
nights are counted

Then years, decades, kidscome back.
I cannot miss her, because we are…

I can only miss the time before
when all was new and lost.

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