Carole

i drank my coffee facing you
as we talked about the new man
in the life of JoAnn
we talked about the good old days
while I ate a very large warmed cookie,
carefully separating it into small,
more manageable
bite sized pieces
i recall we did the same with our life stories
as you thought about smoking a cigarette,
your lips working the imaginary butt
while i spoke, slowly exhaling a paragraph
about Mike and his cauliflower.
did you laugh
when i said it gave him gas?
His death was unfortunate, as was Jim's death.
but you seemed strong, with sharp clear eyes
watching me take a sip from the paper cup.
i know being a widow
is hard.
we went outside and sat on the lone wooden bench
and you lit up
being alone is not the same as being lonely,
you told me
i thought the bright red vest looked good on you
as did the jewelry, fashionable in a silvery way