Maybe no one has posted to this poem because it presents the condition of the woman who has lost her husband, a condition which is primarily inarticulate, one in which the nature of things--as they have changed--has not yet been "accomodated." I understand the "speaker's" desire for the martini, at the poem's end, and didn't she use the word "enbalmed"? I can't see the text as I write this, but it all seems so sudden.

Martin, I like this poem; the line breaks, the punctuation, the way the title sets the tempo… the way she says microwaving popcorn…not a word wasted…

Sigh, a poem well met.

I like it more and more, because it presents emotional experience of the bereaved woman. I remember getting a call from a hospital, and being told that mother's heart had stopped at 5:02 am, Jan. 14, 2008. Same sort of thing, same "news break" for my dad, and for each I read, at their funerals, poems I had written in 2002, for her, "Visiting his Mother," for him, "The Happiest Man," declared by Moira Redmond, former Slate ed. in chief, her favorite "father poem." We used to have "Fests" for certain days, like Fathers Day, or Valentines Day. Since I have them in My Documents, one day soon, I will re-post one of those "fests," which I did cooperatively with a guy named Greg, down in Kentucky I think. Why not.