My friends put on swim floats and snorkels
when I walk in the door.
Awkward silence is a bucket with holes
they pass me when I cry.
I flood the room. Everyone paddles.
They give me an extra napkin
to sop up my tears.
My dead husband is a nuisance
they put up with for an hour
before they nudge me out the door
with promises of casseroles
and a nice man they want me to meet.
I find more pleasure in a gallon of ice cream
than in the cold comfort of my friends.
published in Sonnets to Sing
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