(11 May 1954 / Macclesfield)

What do you think this poem is about?

Loss

Loss is not that first stab,
Nor the numbness that follows.
Loss is not the nights after,
Nor tears shed heavily into pillows.
Loss is coming home full of news,
Only to find an empty house.
Forgetful, to set the table for two,
Turn to speak to vacant air.
Loss is to laugh alone.

Submitted: Thursday, October 13, 2011
Edited: Friday, October 14, 2011

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