Preparation

I drank the last swallow of my coffee;

dark and strong with a hint of sugar,

mellowed with a splash of cream.

Glancing at the clock,

I set aside my book

and got dressed.

Dark slacks and a charcoal sweater.

No mascara to run and puddle.

Sunglasses to hide behind.

Standing in the park,

I listen to birds sing

and voices speak.

I take deep breaths and stare

at his mother.

How is she holding up?

I can’t see her eyes behind huge sunglasses.

Others address and welcome me.

I hear whispering – “his first wife” –

I want to leave;

to nurse my pain

alone.

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