Modern Widows Club

On the third Thursday each month, this abject group
of pioneers meet. Age is not a requirement,
young mothers, grandmothers and childless spouses
all desire not to be a member, death brings them together.
No one criticizes the hours shared with one another,
out-stretched arms embrace arrivals like a mother hen’s wings
surrounding a fragile chick lost in the dark. Ruby red and sparkling white wines
with sumptuously Brie, Gouda, and Roquefort are consumed by all. Fruity pastries
with cream cheese fillings, frosted cookies and chocolate cakes are on trays.
The same question is unfilled each meeting, some offer answers,
others listen with mourning eyes. White Diamonds, silk scarves, D&B handbags,
grey haired ladies revealing a long loving life, slender blonde mothers of two, three, or four,
want their lives back, the way they were before. Why do I belong here?
He died and I need to tell my world. I’m not alone.

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