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Mari Henson Bodnar


Plight of Widowers

It is not the male thing to do.
It is not the manly thing
to let your hair down,
no matter the length, lack of it.

It is not the male thing
to do journaling.
It is not thought to be masculine
to vent your dammed-up feelings.

Is it time to remove the wedding band?
Or, is it too early to start a new hunt
to replace the once irreplaceable,
to install a new life timetable?

Let go! Just do it!
There is no gender in grieving.
You, after all,
are also a human being.




You are the Universe

I cuddle the golden poppies,
you are now part of them.

I follow the swallows,
you now soar with them.

I embrace the wind, the breeze,
you now flow with them.

I marvel at the clouds,
you now cavort with them.

I ride the river of lush grass,
you now nurture them.

And soon, I will too.




The Force

I will my feet, my legs
to propel me
forward faster
to reach my various stations
each day.

yet. . .
i am like a train
sliding k c a b
on its tracks.

i will my hands, my fingers
to move, to write
as rapidly as before
to etch for posterity
my memoirs, my journal
each day.

yet. . .
i am like a movie
grinding in s l o w m o t i o n.


With the burdening years,
and you no longer at my side,
I struggle,
I strive,
and somewhat survive,

till death do us join.

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