Widow in the Pasta Aisle

Worn white shoes draw lines
on the supermarket floor. Her feet drag
as her head turns, slowly, gray braid trailing.

Her gaze stops on the cellophane bag,
the mauve ribbons dusted
with fine wheat flour. Her hand
is its own vehicle, guiding the bag
to the cart before new thoughts
can emerge. The aimless stockboy
bumps her cart. She blinks,
her eyes first blue, then red.

The chili pepper pasta slides
back onto the shelf. His favorite,
she thinks. I don't
buy this today.

photograph by Alisa Resnik

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