FOR SUMITA, 16 MONTHS WIDOWED: THE CLUB NO ONE WANTS TO JOIN

1.
Welcome.

It looks like no one is here
nor ever has been.

How did you get
dropped into desolation
thorny rocky pathless dry

You are not sure
what country you are in
nor what language
is spoken

not that there is anyone
with whom to speak

alone, slight word
for so vast an isolation

2.

It was in the fine print
you skimmed.
Who reads these small details
when captivated
by the more engrossing clauses
of that long contract
called ‘marriage’?

It was in the statistics
“life expectancy”
but you didn’t expect this,
and why should you have?
It was in the long
bloody history of the world,
and tonight’s news.

Yet comparison
of your devastation
to the long aching grief of others
makes not a dent
in your own forced march:
monotonous agony,
fierce trackless wastelands,
absent clues.

Except, it makes you feel guilty.

No one, now, tells you, “Get over it!”
more than you. How you wish
you could speed the passage!

3.

You remember how
he rubbed your feet
with peppermint lotion
brought you heart-shaped rocks
the hot starched hiss
when he ironed his shirts
his special lamb chops, broiled
with soy and butter;

how, when you woke at night,
and he irritatingly slept on, you
were annoyed
by his easy heart, easy sleep.
The litany:
dropped clothes, snoring,
the hacking cough, the seat left up,
a tendency to over-literalism.
What you wouldn’t give
to have them back!

Except, without that long association,
the matched pace
that did not always match,
you have nothing to give.

Nor is there currency, chip, or bargain
to be made.

4.

Of course you didn’t think to ask the passwords.
Of course you didn’t appreciate him enough.

5.

Does the cat miss him?
How dare there be weather?
How dare there be ordinary?
It’s an outrage!

No one warned you
let alone prepared you
though it was in plain sight.

6.

The awful word
for what you are now:
two Ws, jagged peaks
at either end. It encases you.

If only you could add an N
and make it window
and open that window
and step back into sunlight:

the slammed door
that meant “I’m home!”
the clicking on the keyboard
as he paid the bills
or played online bridge
the rosin for his fiddle bow,
the tennis racket in its zippered bag
the old backpack in which he carried
the first dues of the club
he started thirty years ago,
now grown worldwide

Do the young members
even know his name?

7.

I give you N.

Now, which must be endured.

Never, which is when he is able
to return to you in that dear form
which you adored.

New, which is the life
that waits for you, for which you wait,
eventual, but not without
green radiance.

Not, as in, however, it will not always be like this.

It will not, Sister. Welcome.