Something Appropriate Poem by Theresa Dould Cummings

Something Appropriate

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper,
At the very top the pastor had written:
Something Appropriate. He couldn't understand that.
He had known her his whole life
and still, he didn't know her.
Oh, he knew the basics. She was pretty enough and was a good enough cook.
She liked the garden he built for her. She liked to hang the wash outside by the capped, unused well.
She was a good wife. She never argued
with him. He couldn't recall any long
talks about anything of purpose.
He walked up the rocky steps leading to the house. There lacked the familiar scent of coffee in the air. Yet still he sniffed.
Gone were the busy sounds he would hear from the kitchen.
He looked over by the pantry door and could see
the paisley apron she always wore,
waiting to go to work.
He removed his hat and coat,
dropping them carelessly upon his chair,
waiting for her to move them
to the closet hook. He kept watch to see if her hand
would lift the old worn coat. He didn't know
why he kept looking. He was never really here.
And now, she never will again.

Theresa Dould Cummings© 4/08/2008