She’s noticed that the clock ticks more slowly
upon three days of the year,
her birthday, Valentine’s Day and this one.
The Council magnolia, tinsel-less walls
blink and shine colourfully
from the flashing Christmas lights
invading from the house opposite.
She refuses to watch telly over this holiday period
and will not eat anything
until the day after Boxing day.
Instead, she listens quietly and intently to ‘Talk Radio’
and the large group of Widows and Widowers
who gather there… in the lost, small hours.
Weeping pitifully down telephone lines and into airwaves,
unburdening themselves heroically
for all the world to hear.
It helps to take the edge off that glistening knife,
she normally has no trouble dulling…
it does not warm yet unchills
the frost and sadness from her lonely, old bones.