by Ginger Graziano

Jeremy orders popcorn, cookies, doughnuts,
enough for a large party but it’s just the two
of us. We’ll never eat all of this.
Then I think, so what?

We lie on his hospital bed, watching
Fire in the Sky, eating everything,
holding hands. His nurses stop by
to comment on our feast.
The comfort of our love—
even here.

Near the end, bald and beautiful, face lit
from within—he’s already partly gone.
Hand on his heart, I kiss him goodbye,
tell him to look for the light,
Poppy is waiting.

My Sea Cliff—a place of refuge after
his death to wander late at night
with the moon’s light shimmering
on the harbor, to hug pine trees,
their bark rough against my cheek—
stand-ins for family who are gone.

Porches with people murmuring
and laughing, far from city streets,
loud traffic, and stress. Solace of wind
chimes, houses aglow in the dark
invite me to come alive again, let
peace enter my starved heart.

Ginger Graziano, originally from New York City, is a writer, artist, and graphic designer living in Asheville, North Carolina. Her poems and short stories have been published in Kakalak, Sky Island Journal, The American Journal of Poetry, The Great Smokies Review, Stone Voices, Embodied Effigies, The Conium Review, and Writing in Circles. Her memoir, See, There He Is, was published in 2015.