ART AND POETRY / Grieving

Grieving

Her mother stands in her bathrobe
and opens the front door.

She gives her daughter calico oven mitts
and says to take this casserole
to our neighbor.

She doesn’t understand why
but she follows her mother's orders
and is ringing my doorbell.

I place the hot dish on the kitchen table
and use a stainless steel spatula to lift
a square slice onto a plate.

I don’t understand why
things have to change
or how time gets away.

Small birds twitter outside my window,
my food becomes too cold to eat.