Driftwood And The Widow Poem by elysabeth faslund

She'd forgotten walks along driftwood beaches,
Meandering hand-in-hand...long ago...
One of them picked up an interesting piece,
Then home,
Above the fireplace.
It had a home.
Forever.

She walks to the supermarket, smartly dressed...
Decisions between wheat or white flour.
The produce section makes her take a little,
Pink pill.
Her hands are laced with gold...a band, other
Things, grace her lotioned hands and body.
She's sold her life for Island Cruises...alone.
Perhaps.

The driftwood lives on the mantle, but now,
When she sees it...she makes an excuse...
An errand. Mostly driving as long as she can.

One day, she doesn't know when yet...they'll
Walk that beach. Watching horizon clouds,
Leaving their footprints as before...and choose
One, unusual piece of driftwood to keep the
Other company.

The young choice...the old.
Two pieces of driftwood,
Side by side.