After Burying a Wife by Donal Mahoney
Were she here with me now, by the waist I would raise her, a chalice of wonder. I’d bellow hosannas and whirl her around, tell her again that I love her, press my face moist in the pleats of her skirt, ask her to sprinkle phlox on the curls of our children if they are with her, ask her to stay a while longer while I do so much more were she here with me now.