Last week he said How nice of you to come. 
After fifty-four years, it would've been, in June
he makes a tentative sandwich in the kitchen.
The girls worm their way into the body of the house. 
Spare the old man that at least,
her things smelling like her still.
On the dresser three bottles of Emeraude,
two still in boxes. Top drawer, no love letters.
Just some puzzles stashed away for the grandkids
with bras from Sears, pantyhose with no elastic
and a keychain from the Grand Canyon. 
Worn knit gloves and a pair of soft kidskin
still stitched together like manacles. 
The cardigan she bought the last time they went to Europe,
still wearable, mind you, with a little mending. 
In the bottom drawer nightgowns and
a card "To Grace on our 40th anniversary"
and an unopened bottle of Joy.