Is this the year?
Is it time?
I've been putting it off
     But maybe this year --
     Still not sure
     I can do it.

Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
But I cannot picture
     The finality
     Of the underground.

But still it is my duty
As the grieving wife
To see to it
     No matter how much
     It disturbs me.

Just that I cannot
Say good-bye, ever
Not ever.
     Our parting was too quick,
     Is this why I delay?

©April 11, 2025

Diane E. Dockum

I managed to clear the table today and put a table cloth on for looks

But, now I still have a few things left to find homes for on the coffee table.

Here is a list:

A stapler
A purple ball for squeezing that my husband brought home when he cleared    out his desk at work
Four scented Yankee Candles
A cranberry colored vase
A mug that I had cocoa in earlier today
A spoon
A wooden clothes pin
A file holder from my desk
A Kindle device (my first one)
A roll-on perfume bottle that I just got, and it smells very nice by the way
A stack of Archaeology magazines
A stack of Smithsonian magazines
A newspaper that I am going to do the crossword in
A loose leaf notebook filled with lined paper in which random thoughts are written
A laptop carrier
A Longaberger® tissue box

So, you see, I still have much to do. Maybe tomorrow
I have to write my poem for today
Oh, yes, and two wind chimes that are brand new and still in their boxes



©April 8, 2025
Diane E. Dockum

Piles of papers 
Stacked on the dining room table
I swear every day to sort
One pile at a time

Greeting cards from Christmas
From Mothers’ Day
From Valentine’s Day
Some from family and friends

And then
From my late husband
And the memories flood in
Then there are bills that need filing

Next are the insurance statements 
From his hospital stays
And the sticky notes he wrote reminders on
I can’t throw away anything I find with his handwriting

There is a menu from the hospital room
Where he circled different foods
That later he could no longer eat
And now I know why these piles have been here so long



©April 7, 2025
Diane E. Dockum
                                                                                                                                          

Typing words on an empty file
The words seem like jars
Pouring out random fragments
Of thoughts
That clatter onto the page
Not turning into coherent lines
They lack wisdom
Or philosophy 
It is nearly time to go to bed.
I feel the deadline closing in
A narrowing tunnel
Pinching out the light
It’s time to draw the curtains
And power down
Lock the doors
And start fresh tomorrow


©April 6, 2025
Diane E. Dockum

Wind came through
In the night
Thunder, lightning
Pounding rain
And trains

Vibrations in the walls
Wake me 
Three thirty three a.m.
Sounds of a freight train
Make me wonder

Is it a tornado
And then I hear the whistle
Echoing off the houses
As it snakes its way through town

Flashes on the window-shade
Assaulting my eyelids
Cannon fire and rumbling
Hammer at my ears

Another train calls 
Out through the wind
And another follows
Blasting holes in the storm

Cracking lightning stabbing
Hot light through the clouds
Percussion on the roof
And sleep is over
Say good morning and move on



©April 5, 2025
Diane E. Dockum

No upcoming events
A proclamation that
Makes me smile
As I look at my calendar
A sigh of relief escapes me
One day more
For me to roam naturally
Or do nothing
At my leisure
I can nap
Or read
Or write
I can think
Out loud
And no one hears
As I sort my thoughts
Like laundry
And mentally floss
The tarter from my mind

©April 4, 2025
Diane E. Dockum

A cup of tea
And Ramen noodles
Are my supper
As I watch
Stock markets plummet
The world unsure
And losing faith
And now I want
Ice cream
A massage
As my neck and jaw
tighten, harden
bracing for tomorrow

©April 3, 2025
Diane E. Dockum