"I anticipate these sheets will keep tomorrow at bay"                                               -Carolyne Swift

Sometimes all you can change, sheets on a bed,
your side creased from a toss and turn night,
empty but for tears and questions.

Clocks tick off the hours,
the earth orbits, rotates, gets a little older.
You stand still, stymied, stunned, a little stupid.
It’s over, the windows again transparent,
the mirrors no longer lying.
Even your best friends begin to tell you.

But you really know, changing sheets,
his side flat as the earth before Columbus,
your life, another history for the joke books.
No one is laughing.

In houses of mourning, mirrors are covered.
You finally understand why.

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