TWO YEARS AFTER MY HUSBAND’s PASSING
In his mid-60’s, the same age as when we met, with gray hair, sunglasses,
he takes the seat next to me at the ball park.
I half expect him to say, “Hello sweetie.”
Instead, he asks in his familiar, lilting voice
if I’m a Colorado Rockies fan.
I say yes, intent on the game.
My cousin whispers that he looks like Bill.
I ignore her, ask if he knows the score
since I can’t read the board with my limited vision.
He says it’s 0-5 with the opposing team ahead.
We listen, watch in silence,
sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” at the seventh inning stretch.
He offers to bring me something to eat.
I say I’ll go with him,
stand, take his arm, allow him to guide me,
marvel that his blind eyes can now see in death,
and he no longer walks with a limp.
We purchase our food and drinks, return to our seats.
The opposing team creams the Rockies 12-3.
As we’re getting ready to leave, we shake hands.
He says he’ll see me around,
walks away–I take my cousin’s arm.
We file out of the stadium.