quote for the week: The Machines (from the Widows' Handbook)

The Machines

by Jacqueline Kudler

First the grill ignition failed, 

then, not ten days later and

two months after you died,

the fridge condense went

but slowly--

for days I watched

the glacier crawling down

along the back wall.

It wasn't too much longer

before the timers in the double

 oven and the freezer

quit, as if some universal

clock had simply stopped

somewhere, all dials fixed

at midnight.

By his fourth call,

the National Appliance guy

opined he'd never witnessed 

such a run of luck--

everything breaking down

like that around me.

He hoped (with eyes 

accustomed to assessing

hairline cracks and fissures)

that I was holding up OK.

I told him how my days,

amazingly enough, go well.

I wake, bathe, lunch with

friends, call the kids,

and at night when I sit

down at the table, I light

a candle at your place.

Oh, I'm doing well

enough, I said,

but given their histories,

the nature of their finely

wired dispositions,

I wouldn't presume 

to speak

for the machines.

 

Another Poem from The Widows' Handbook--this one by Regina Murray Brault

The Sisterhood

Words travel fast on Widows' Row.

They say

another casserole to bake

another wake to walk through.

It is our rite

to pray for him who lies at rest

in his best suit--

something he would not allow himself

until today.

We'll drink a toast to him

who won't be home for her beef stew

although she'll set the place

and call his name.

We are the sisterhood of silence

who won't remind her

that we who must give life

are taught 

to wear our emptied wombs

as though they were blue ribbons

from the county fair

and we who are dealt death 

are taught 

to plug our hollowed hearts

with homemade carrot cakes

while burying our men as we

do iris bulbs in gardens.

Instead, those of us who call it basic black

and crowd the back pews of the church

will watch and wait

 while others tell her

time will heal all wounds.

The words our tongues find hard to form

for each of us has learned

in turn

that there are secrets

 widows keep.

 

On My Own

 I have been a widow for fifteen years and two days but life has gone on.  A different life, to be sure, filled with memories, joys and sorrows.

Below is a poem I wrote a few years after my husband died.  It was published in The Widows' Handbook:

On My Own

On my own   

I have had

A leaky roof,

A flooded bathroom,

A water heater leaking gas,

A crashed hard drive,

Thousands of dollars in medical bills,

A lawsuit over business assets,

Debts to you, your friend refused to pay,

Squirrels in the attic,

A possum in the bathroom, 

A broken nose,

A hysterectomy,

Carpal tunnel surgery,

Cataract surgery,

Vertigo, 

And a hornet sting.

A new cat,

The garage restored,

The house repainted,

A garden planted,

Articles in anthologies,

A new book published,

A trip to France,

Visits to the Alhambra,

Troy and Gallipoli,

My picture on a calendar,

A blog with over fifty followers,

A date,

My hair grown longer,

My hair cut shorter,

And my seventy-fifth birthday.

There have been

Spring meadows sprinkled with bluebonnets,

Summer afternoons dazzled by heat,

Autumn doorbells rung by trick-or-treaters,

Winter twilights, hazy and dim--

And all without you;

Yet I still  go on

And on.

quotes for the week: fall

 

Book of September

Didn't read much in September...or rather, didn't finish much.  I'm reading several long non-fictioon books but I took a breakto read JoJoMoyes" One Plus One.  A great "guilty pleasure" book about a family facing poverty and their interactions with a rich man with a secret.  Fun read.