Pre Echo NaPoWriMo



I remember,
days before your funeral,
driving up I saw her
through the window.
Saw her hand falter
as she reached
into the cupboard
for the second plate,
again when she took
your favourite mug
and put it gently
back in place.
As I parked the car
I saw her smile,
look towards your empty chair,
start to speak
then turn and stare
unseeing through the rain-stained glass;
pale face ghost-like in the day’s late gloom,
her features fading like a sepia snap.

And knew that I would lose her too.


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