(Poem 58 for 2024 – I am writing a poem a day)

“This is hard,” you say,
and point to her portrait,
no more words required.
Tears begin to flow;
you don’t want to cry
and say so.

I tell you no one knows
what you are feeling.
None of us have had a
best friend for 70 years
and had to feel the pain
of losing her.

Then I escape to my
room to weep into
my husband’s arms,
crying even harder
because she can’t
hold you.

@Home Studio – 58^th poem of the year