Gone

The woman stood in front of the table
her sad hands grasping
what's left of her husband
Tears staining his aged war jacket
He's Gone

Her fingertips slowly and gracefully
trace the cheerful faces of the pictures
those moments replay in her mind
over and over but yet,
He's Gone

carefully she flips the dusty pages
of the album, grief storming inside her
He's Gone

several papers flutter down to the
cold kitchen tile
she bends down gradually
and picks them up
old, fragile letters that were
never opened