Epistle to my first wife

it was bitterly cold, the morning that you died
I had to scrape every window of the car
clear of thick frost, before I could drive
I'm sorry, but I didn't know
or maybe didn't want to know
the urgency
it was too soon, there was still a week, or a month
but not just a few hours
and you died without me

so much pain, yours ended and mine just beginning
the anguish of being too late
terror of being alone now
a gaping hole where once had been the whole of you
resentment too, yes now I confess it
because I felt guilty
because I felt cheated, perhaps
bewilderment, the not knowing what to do
or how to tell our children that you were gone and never coming back

you would have been seventy last Friday
our eldest son had to remind me
and I felt more guilt
how busy my life has become that I should forget

I don't even have a photograph of you
yet I do remember you, your beauty
still I miss you, in the still moments
but the peace that you have is not yet mine
so envy too, so many negatives
forgive me, please

Written for:

GROUP

The Poet's Place   (E) Poets can discuss, review, request reviews, etc. of their unique form of writing. #1937699 by Dave has company

Epistle is a poetry form that reads like a letter or short note. This type of poetic work is versatile, which is a relief for those who love to write poetry yet find it difficult to stick to rules when writing.

Epistolary poems can be in any form, such as free verse with no meter or rhyme, or of a more formal style with couplets and rhyming quatrains. It is totally up to the author. There are no hard and binding rules to follow.

Source: https://www.creativeexiles.com/epistle-poetry-form-letter/