The widow considers her options

Crying has become a reflex now and

I barely notice it

autonomic

like 

breath like 

heartbeat like 

peristalsis.

A drink, perhaps, engaging senses and

stilling thought

numbing this moment like 

morphine like 

oxygen like 

cooling skin.

Masturbation, a possibility, slippery finger and

the convulsive shudder

lonely comfort like 

our bed like 

our home like 

the dawn chorus in the dark

I taste salt

I swallow

I curl in on myself, again 

a seed, a reverse bloom

Consider?

Consider nothing.

(c)2014 Laura S. Packer
Please do not share without permission
(seven weeks)