| Lonely Lady
Going home from work, I'm always in a hurry, but still, I'll stop to check on the widow who lives on the corner. Sometimes, I find her framed in the picture window, watching TV and looking lost in her husband's overstuffed recliner. Sometimes, in the wooden rocker, a shadow in the shade of the Boston ivy that shrouds the end of the porch. Sometimes, savoring the remaining sun, sitting in the swing that took her days to paint. I hurry on home to tidy our house, to do the laundry and make his bed and mine, to prepare a meal which we eat in front of the television set so the silence won't scream, and then, he channel surfs, to stare in the same direction until weariness overtakes and I straggle off to bed. Nancy King |