in the ancient days,
wives would wait
for their husbands to return home
so they could eat a happy meal every day.
i may not be your wife
and you not my husband
but dinner was always the time
we'd sit together and act like one.
so i cook every night,
the dishes that you like,
hoping their aroma
will bring you back home
and back to my side;
i lay the plates,
pour the wine,
and wait for the door to open
so you can have the first bite;
but then the morning sun arrives,
and the dinner
is still laid on the table
just like it was last night.
YOU ARE READING
7 Weeks Without You ✓
PoetryGrief is a five letter word but the turbulence it creates can last as much as five years, maybe even more. 7 Weeks Without You is not a story, but a state. Each week reflects one stage of grief: grief for the death of your loved one. Genre: Poetry ...
