By Linda Leedy Schneider
PROMPT — What is Love?
I am naked in my own house now.
Once I lived on a wide river with a man,
my husband of over 50 years. We often
ran naked from bedroom to kitchen,
unencumbered by clothing or convention.
We sometimes ate scrambled eggs and toast
from white plates, watched the blackbirds
that nested in our apple trees.
Now I am naked in my own house.
Maple trees outside my windows
shield me from neighbors' eyes. Blackbirds
still nest in my trees. I move from my bedroom
through the new blue hallway
to my laundry room, gather sheets
fresh from the dryer, hold them to my breasts,
nestle my head in their warmth.
O, I know, it's not the embrace
my body remembers, but it is something.
I am still somebody.
I press my naked self to the window pane.
It is cold, smooth, unyielding. It reminds me
that I am alone in my own house.
I return to my bed, cover myself
with the new comforter.
Nothing here
has ever touched
my dead husband's body
except me.
Linda Leedy Schneider, a psychotherapist in private practice and a poetry mentor who was awarded The Contemporary American Poetry Prize by Chicago Poetry, has written six collections of poetry including Through My Window: Poetry of a Psychotherapist and edited two poetry anthologies, Poems From 84th Street and Mentor’s Bouquet. Linda founded and leads The Manhattan Writing Workshop. She also teaches poetry workshops for The International Women's Writing Guild's Summer Conferences. Linda believes in the healing power of writing and reading poetry. Linda writes from Grand Rapids, Michigan.
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