A closed door with a cart outside,
coffee service with paper cups,
three small apples in a plastic bowl
with plastic wrap across the top—
a bereavement tray,
nothing more to be done.
This is the work.
Sometimes I get a small,
ripe grief lodged in the back
of my throat, taut
as a grape skin.
And what for?
I only know that you were.
I can’t say any more.
OPTIONAL POETRY 
I am sorry for … loss
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Me too
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Loved it !!! 😊😊
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Thank you!
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Very true.
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