Regrets, for my widower
by Carrie Meadows
you provided a kind of fulfillment
while I worked for me to a more or lesser degree
my life often lived singularly sometimes incomplete
with more greed than sacrifice the I do a shorthand
turning the knob like freedom
to the wrong door or choice
in a row of brighter openings or promise
painted doors: red, yellow, blue without context
and black was the color I walked through hungry
not once but again without learning to cook pot roast
always kicking it closed without saying the most important thing
though the dog's tail caught in the hinges and the bed remained unmade
in my numbness for sleep
my body freed from winter walking below a continent
thawed in a hot shower of salt waters where fish gathered
with warmth trailing the cold to see
ice jeweled on a windshield or to feel the unfolding of an umbrella
beneath a gloved hand before the latch locked again
and still no sign of the dog when the weather changed
its leash tossed in the basement regrettably
sink filled with dirty dishes my slippery hands
and mathematics and honesty
you + me = family spelling a simple equation:
you are the lover I loved
but couldn't be
Carrie Meadows is winner of the Poetry Society of Virginia Award sponsored by the Academy of American Poets, and her work has been nominated for the upcoming edition of Best New Poets. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The New River Journal, Anti-, and Plainsongs.