Widowed!

Wakes, rolls from the bed;
down the hall, into the kitchen.
The kettle whistles.
The porridge spits steam
from exploding bubbles.
Looks at the radio but defers;
music would be like forgetting,
like disrespect, like coping.
Four place settings still;
three fragile hearts,
two, too young to be shattered,
one too old to repair.
No longer two against the world;
the world versus one,
the world winning, laughing.
A tear on the hob, dancing.