I am in the kitchen chopping carrots,
And Cathy lies in a bed dying.
I picture her in her own kitchen flitting
From oven
To sink
To refrigerator
Like a butterfly flitting among flowers in her garden.
She moves with such ease,
Cutting up apples and cheese,
Artfully arranging them on a clean white plate.
From the oven she pulls a peach pie,
One that she had baked when the peaches were fresh,
Put in the freezer until the right occasion arose,
And we are the felicitous recipients of her hospitality.
I am in the kitchen cutting up celery,
And Cathy lies in a bed dying.
I see her smile as she lounges with us on her patio.
She is the consummate hostess—
Always welcoming
Always comfortable
Always making time
She pets her beloved dog Coco and laughs at the stories we share
Of friendships past and present
Of times gone by but still held dear.
I am in the kitchen chopping onions,
And Cathy lies in a bed dying.
The onions work on me, and stinging tears come.
But they are mixed with tears of sorrow for my sweet friend
Who I will miss so much.
Today's prompt: write about loss using concrete images.
