qarrtsiluni

by Bev Wigney

Let vultures tug at
the eyes and wallets
of the local yokels
who circle my farm
thinking I lost my brains
along with my husband,
and will sell out for a song
as I’m too dumb to know
what my land is worth.

May whining cicadas
jam up the ears of every
customer service rep
who said they’d change
an account over to my name
but never bothered so that
the monthly statements
continue to arrive addressed to
a dead man instead of me.

Let the Demons of Cosmos
break off manicured nails
and smear lipstick
on the face of any silly twit
who tugs on the arm of her mate,
towing him to safety,
after she discovers “her man” has been
chatting with a woman who (yikes!)
is revealed to be “a widow.”

Send yellow-bellied sapsuckers
to peck and lick at the cowards
who called themselves
family and friends
but never visited my husband
during his illness
when he could have used
someone to talk with
other than me.

May I be showered with pennies
for every time a
well-meaning friend has blithely chirped:
“You’re still young!
You’ll find someone else!”
as though dead soulmates
could be replaced with as little regard
as a pair of worn out hiking boots
or a broken canoe paddle.

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Bev Wigney is a photographer, writer, artist and naturalist, who recently left her home of 31 years on a farm in eastern Ontario after the death of her husband, Don, and is now traveling around North America in a van with her two collies. “We move with the weather and my moods, camping wherever we find a good place to while away some time. This seems like the right way to live for at least the next few months, or perhaps even beyond,” she writes. Follow her progress in her blog, Journey to the Center, and check out her photographic work at her online gallery.