He asks her again–
she ten years widowed
after seven married decades,
her name engraved on a tombstone
where her first husband lies.
Marry me, please,
this one bringing her peaches,
not wanting to die with no record
of their love.
And love him she does
 
for his yes-let’s-go lightness, dapper
countenance, easy humor, caring
kindness, pious nature.
But she is also fond of their separate
apartments; the freedom for holidays
with her own blood kin;
breakfast at six or maybe 10:30.
Besides, there’s that plot
on the other side of town,
someone waiting.


© by Shoshauna Shy.
Used with the author’s permission.