for Connie and for Tom 

She appears more child than widow,
twice abandoned to undertakers’ condolences
offered with a payment plan promised
once and for all, but even as she signed
on the dotted line, she recognized
the ellipses, more to come . . . 

And now, third time the charm,
no ordinary caretaker kneeling
to offer his loss conjoined with hers
companioned against the echo
of footsteps in solitary rooms,
one side of the bed made each morning,
one plate, one coffee cup, washed
and returned to its place in the cabinet.

Today, in their new home, they will raise
their glasses to toast each other,
their secret joy of private jokes shared,
and tomorrow garland their home
with lights, bright signals of coming Christmas:
Red light. Green light.