Jo Ann

Fifty-five years they slept in the same bed,
Sometimes tenderly, sometimes in the silence of backs turned.
The dawn always brought a familiar day,
Roles anticipated, always played with diligence.

She knew the home, and he the world,
His stomach never empty, her pocket never quite full.
She lovingly raised their two sons,
Tended to their humble house on a quiet street.

She never tired of her chores,
Never complained of the lot given her.
Loved, gave, and sacrificed,
To her sons' generation and the next.

Time etched their features,
Sickness cruelly weakened her frame.
One last time she affirmed her love,
And was ready to go Home.

Face in his trembling hands, he sobs softly,
Tears shine in eyes that look back, expressionless.
Years of love so insufficiently articulated,
Now spoken without voice.

Abandoned in a home once shared,
He shuffles from the chair to the bed,
Turns down the bedclothes on her side,
And drifts to a fitful sleep.