her house

you wish that you
could change this
weather, but
you can't argue
with rain, or
bargain with the
clouds that hang
low, they are
as still and unmoving
as your hand is on
the wood sill,
you have paced
this room before,
when she died,
you walked into
her shadows, and
peered into
the closets where
her clothes still
hung. you didn't
touch her shoes,
her things, this
would be done
by others. but
you sat there, as
you do now, and
watched the rain,
as she did from
the same window,
from the same
chair, on the
same day, minus
seven years.