After Talking to a New Widow I Wrote: in 2020

That Black and White Photo

I am the crow in that black and nest-like
chair.

You see how the sun squawked, its slashes
as black and white as death.

You see my feet
in old, long-baked boots
at rest up on the wall –

where I learned to render back the man I had
married. His hands. His mind.
His life.

I kept my back to the thunder clap.