The Widow
With stooped shoulders she stands
below a gray sky dome
that sits on far flung flatness
winter grass brown.
She wonders where is the sun?
Silence is interrupted
only by bursts of icy wind’s shriek and moan
that haunt the barren space
she wants to but cannot leave.
In time sunlight descends
as bits and pieces of gold.
The wind becomes
kindly whispers, mild breezes.
On the horizon geese appear.
Whirligig wings fly them closer
until she hears their raucous call
to follow their direction,
to be home by spring.
Myrne Roe was one of the outstanding participants in the Denise Low "Putting on the Mask of History" poetry workshop conducted Jan. 27, 2015, at Watermark Books. This poem is from that workshop. Roe is the editor of Radiating Like a Stone: Wichita Women and the 1970s Feminist Movement (Wichita: Watermark Books, 2011). Roe is a former teacher, congressional staff directory, university public relations administrator, and nationally syndicated columnist.
© 2015 “The
Widow” by Myrne Roe
© 2015 Blog
and photography by Denise Low
