Floating over leaden feet out from hospital halls
An automaton. Your jeans, and bra
Crumpled into the bottom of a white, plastic bag
I felt like I carried your sad body in that bag,
I moved— not quite walking
Head down hung mouthed
Fallen faced in crowds
I needed the world to see that I was broken.
"There's something to be said for widow's wear" someone told me,
And so I wore your last breath like a black veil
Over everything I touched
And allowed the discomfort
Of waitresses and taxi drivers
To lie across my body like
Grey assuagement.
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