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After Burying a Wife | A Poem by Donal Mahoney

Were she here with me now,
by the waist I would raise her,
a chalice of wonder.

I’d bellow hosannas
and whirl her around,
tell her again that I love her,

press my face moist
in the pleats of her skirt,
ask her to sprinkle

phlox on the curls
of our children
if they are with her,

ask her to stay a while longer
while I do so much more
were she here with me now.

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