In the chapel the mood is somber, restrained—
Eulogies the burnt offering of family and friends.
They commit his face, with its gentle contour, to memory,
Hand out condolences like aspirins.
The service is brief, the room quiet as a museum,
His death a commutation ticket to the hereafter.
Frank and I shared a life together—a feast
To the last crust of bread, the last drop of wine.
The garland of goodness adorned his head.
The gods anointed him, I said.
Grieving, I wear widowhood with grace,
Separation only a matter of geography.
Mary Engleberg