So now, you’re gone; my tears still fall a bit
in gentle waves—a moment’s shocked surprise
to find your hat—the red one—that used to suit
so well, as pert and antic as your eyes
alight at church or coffee hour when you tried
to hear soft voices—inaudible silken murmurs,
those ancient lady voices too thin to vocalize
for your deaf ears to hear more than a tremor;
and your red hat leaned in—a charmer,
avid for a joke, to give one to the crowd,
to smile and nod and laugh in hearty pleasure
while dignified, secure, atop your head and proud.
The little red hat sits on the closet shelf today;
I can’t bring myself to throw that hat away.