Finding Her Way

She sets two plates on the old oak table. Out of habit,

not for need. The chair where he sat is quiet now. Like the ticking

clock she can't unsee. The dog still waits by the door each night

for a man who won't come home. After the years, after the tears,

how do you learn to stand alone? After the vows, after the miles,

how do you fill a heart that's grown? She whispers his name.

But the silence stays. After the years, she's finding her way.

The sun still rises, the coffee still brews. The mornings