Merry Widow

Last Halloween, we dressed as Death,

walked to an abandoned neighborhood,

took photos. You stood on the steps

of an empty police station and leered

for the camera. 

Two nights ago, I built an ofrenda

from cardboard boxes, and covered it

with strips of multicolored tapestries.

To honor the dead, offer them beverages

and their favorite treats. Arrange sugar skulls

along the perimeter to remind them

of the sweetness of life. 

Don’t forget pictures: you in a forest,

leaning against a picket fence,

or huddled over your first guitar, fierce

concentration on your unblemished face.

This year, I dressed as a merry widow.

I swayed in a bar amongst strangers.

I shouldn’t survive with so little effort,

when you tried your hardest but failed.

Each morning, my eyes glimpse the same outlines.

Lungs inhale, release. Everything still

in working order. Another random pile of paper

strewn across the coffee table, and

dishes left over from last night’s meal.

Nothing to do except live. 

Forgive me. I am not yet Death,

but my turn will come. Today,

I removed your altar, returned the offerings

to their original places. Somebody

needs to eat the chocolate.

Leah Mueller is an indie writer and spoken word performer from Bisbee, Arizona. She is the author of nine prose and poetry books, published by numerous small presses. Her latest chapbook, "Land of Eternal Thirst" (Dumpster Fire Press) was released in 2021. Leah’s work appears in Rattle, Midway Journal, Citron Review, The Spectacle, Miracle Monocle, Outlook Springs, Atticus Review, Your Impossible Voice, and elsewhere. Visit her website at www.leahmueller.org.