Write letters to widows you’ve never met

There is a grief there that you can’t comprehend

Are you hoping that sealing it in a stranger’s envelope

Will save you from that pain?

That flimsy glue and correct postage

Will push the sorrow away from you

In blue bags to some foreign doorstep

Where a women sits in her hallway

And stares at the baseboards

Wondering why she wasted time cleaning

When she could have been counting

His heart beats and

Lying naked on his body

There is no correct postage to save you

From that suffering

Only the small comfort of

Giving her pause to wonder

How a stranger knew to send sympathy