She slipped away tonight,
In the next room, while their child was sleeping.
He wishes for words to make it all right.
In their child's doorway, he turns on the light.
A little face lifts to his, beseeching.
She slipped away tonight.
He leans over the bed, holds their child tight.
To comfort painful weeping.
He wishes for words to make it all right.
Emptiness fills his throat, a hole as blank as white,
He prays that he can keep keeping.
She slipped away tonight.
He cannot speak; his throat's too tight,
But their child knows without him preaching
He wishes for words to make it all right.
He closes his eyes and thinks of her fight
To stay a little longer, to be within reaching.
She slipped away tonight,
And he has no words to make it all right.
55
WORDS TO MAKE
IT RIGHT
PATRICIA PFLAUMER
IN MEMORY OF CAROL HALMKIN PFLAUMER (FEB. 25, 2008)