The Widow … An Enigma
by Candace Turner

Paints her lips fire engine red
Smears blue shadow
on droopy eyelids

Arthritic fingers slide
wire hangers; searches for
a decades old skimpy black dress

Age-spotted hands
tug, pull faded silky fabric
Struggles, reaching for a
back zipper that refuses to zip

Swollen feet spill into
dusty black three-inch heels
One step, two steps
Prays for balance

Clutches a silver evening bag
Its luster long gone
One last look in the mirror
A sigh, a giggle, almost a laugh
Never a tear

The moon is full, stars absent
She’s ready to hobble
three blocks to the cemetery

She stands before a cold marble stone
His name, Henry … loving husband
1942-2025
Ethel … loving wife …

She waltzes on her husband’s grave
while humming I’ll Be Seeing You