every Thursday night

relieved to be home
where it’s warm & dry
she chains the door behind her
with a contented sigh

another workday’s passed
& she’s made it through
to another Thursday evening
with something special to do

once her cozy clothes
have been donned
she races to the kitchen
eager to crack on

hands all washed
knives assembled with care
cookbook propped open
new soup she must prepare

leeks she chops
boiling water for the stock
blender at the ready
ever mindful of the clock

the tasks she performs
are a private treasure
& she smiles as she stirs
imagining his face lit up with pleasure

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in a secret dresser drawer
is a purple sleeping pill
the kind that needs
no prescription to fill
she only needs
to turn it on
& with hardly any effort
for a wee while – grief is gone

nights when her sorrow
is too much to bear
she lights a candle
in her bedroom lair
makes her mind a blank
spreads her long legs wide
flicks that tiny switch
& slips her purple pill inside

it helps her on those nights
when she’s worn out from weeping
when her thoughts turn dark
cause she’s not sleeping
it’s much better than the tears
which leave her pillow wet
& at this point,
she’ll take whatever comfort she can get

she’d rather have
the human touch
but she can’t stand to be
around people much
“time heals all wounds”
they serenely say
“read your Bible” or
“I find it helps to pray”

useless words
in the light of cold sunrise
after another sleepless night
of desperation & unheard cries
she knows she can’t
undo the past
drowning in dismay,
she’s sinking fast

people grieve differently:
you never can tell
what somebody will do
to escape from their personal hell
if she needs battery-powered comfort,
then who are you to begrudge?
heartache does strange things
& you ain’t God, so don’t judge

copyright © 2017 KPM