She’d pushed him away for years,
for every time he’d come back
had been confirmation of the love
she always felt she had to test.
It was where they’d made love, babies, memories.
It was where she’d made Turducken every holiday,
& he’d ended it all, starting with the youngest.
When her husband was alive,
she’d climbed into her shell.
When she killed him,
she came out of her shell,
finding autonomy in prison.
Like Mom, she kept the house,
as well as the furniture,
& all the little things they shared—
all except the memories,
which neither wanted,
but could not give away.
She’d loved him from afar,
till she saw him up close.
It was all the difference between a
microscope & a telescope.