After Grannie's funeral on the 10th, I wrote this poem...kind of a reflection on the women left behind when those they love pass on. It is still a rough draft...I am working on perfecting it. :-)
The Last One to the Ball
they left
one by one
in formal black coaches
without her
she held her invitation
but
she stayed behind
to cross off her list
the things left to do
they take time
these lists
and she won’t be going
until
they’re crossed off
she looks
with wistful longing
at the far off lights and
the faint melody of the gavotte
whispers in her ears
she can imagine
all of them
together
dancing
talking
reveling
yet she knows
they’ll be plenty left
once
she arrives in her own
black coach
dressed to the hilt
covered in jewels
but its not yet time
she folds her invitation
plunks it in her apron pocket
and turns
from the door
there is just so much to do
before the ball