Ten Years and More

When my husband 

lay dying a mountain

a lake three 

cities ten years 

and more

lay between us:

There were our

sons my wounds 

and theirs,

despair loneliness,

handfuls of un-

hammered nails 

pictures never 

hung all

The uneaten 

meals and unslept

sleep; there was 

retirement, and 

worst of all

a green umbrella

he can never

take back.

I wrote him a

letter but all

I could think of

to say was: do you

remember Severn¹

River, the red canoe

with the sail

and lee-boards?

I was really saying

for the sake of our 

youth and our love

I forgave him for 

everything

and I was asking him

to forgive me too.