Christopher Arksey

                              As each left more arrived. 

                                          Old friends, colleagues, church 

                              regulars joined to say goodbye. 

                                          I gave up my seat and perched 

                              on the windowsill, edging 

                                          in and out of last conversations. 

                              A one-time congregation 

                                          of sorts. Some dredging 

                              holiday stories and office jokes 

                                          to keep it light, stifling croaks 

                              of laughter. Some were all prayers. 

                                          While others warmed their chairs 

                              in sniffled vigil and waited 

                                          for the next to take their places. 

                              Your life’s work concentrated 

                                          to one room. In their faces

 

                              flashed sides I’d not seen in you. 

                                          Roles outside of mum and wife, 

                              the ones that rounded up your life, 

                                          were now diminishing in full view: 

                              loyal companion, beloved boss, 

                                          true believer. My singular loss 

                              humbled by multiple thefts, 

                                          as each arrived and more left.