You hold on to the toothbrush
For as long as possible, and the comb
She left behind with residual tresses
Seems precious – a collector’s item
Even memory’s space craft

And you realize the little things that she brought
To the front of the sink or the mirror
Every detail of her pajamas and how a dress
Perfectly falls around her
And you think why or why
Did I let ever let her go….

When dynasties crumble like that
And the heart seemingly finds
Enough courage to wake up each morn
And pour oneself some milk and corn flakes
And what you seem to miss
Is a finely-arranged fridge
And neatly assembled mittens
On the oven holder
And a life of instant food seems
As hopeless as the first day of an Arctic winter

And that is when you realize
That what she simmered and cooked
On the cooktop – was love !