The Armor of the Widow Warrior / Poem by Linda B. Scanlan

Poem by Linda B. Scanlan

 

The Armor of the Widow Warrior

Scrutinizing herself
she placed the pert hat jauntily on her head
fixed with pins
an archaic act that pleased her
the traditional armor of her dignity
she would not let shatter…..

The mirror told the story
of devastation that took place
in the very space
she had built a grand and glorious life with her hero none could forget….

Standing straight and tall
recalling those other widows
who’d gone before
she grimaced
driving down the biliousness
so often gripping her these long lonely days
that have just begun…

She aged twenty years in a week
this face bearing the torment
watching her beloved husband waste away
the outside reflection
of her withered broken heart
the violent storm raging inside ……

She asked –
who am I now
dressed in widow’s weeds
elegant and smart in basic black
head to toe
pearls cascading
dead matte weight against her pale skin
no shine lacking luster
cultured and craven…..

She roams the big empty house
room to room silent and still
the giant of a man she married
reduced to skin and bones
by marauding cells that showed no mercy…

He had been captive before and walked away
these errant intruders would not be so inclined
to give way to his desire to remain
just a little longer
work yet to do
it was not to be
eating away at his body
not daring to touch his roaring spirit ….

Who is she now
no longer his wife
the widow dressed in black
mourning a loss so great
to breathe
will require all her strength…..

©Linda B. Scanlan and Sable Rogue, 2018

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