• Sweet-scented incense
    floods the room, permeating
    even the floorboards.
    This small flat fills with people,
    eyes blurred. Some laugh too loudly, one
    is deathly still.

    I sit, left of center,
    and watch our long-haired daughters
    brush aside bouquets
    of ivory chrysanthemums,
    and kindly kiss your picture;
    worn cloth brushing pine boards.

    I catch myself thinking of you,
    and despair.
    White was your favorite color
    and, darling, I’m wearing it for you now.

    The ring on my left hand,
    grows colder by the hour.
    The sky weeps through a window,
    tears falling from ashen clouds.