Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts

Sounds Within the Widow’s Walls

by Donald Levering

 

Late at night my mother hears the others
doing laundry, taking showers.

Pipe-moans mount to shrieks
that stop and start all over.

The plumbing’s clang and rush
sound like the subway

that hurtles under her building
and then beneath the river.

Her husband used to take that train
to and from his graveyard shift.

She asks herself when last it was her George
was here to warm her bed,

wishes she would hear his steps
pause before her door.