I have been doing my share
Of grieving lately. I say share
As if it were an apportioned
Amount. A pinch of salt, dash
Of cardamon. Measure your
Grief in a beaker, a basket, by
The pound or a bushel. I do
Not even know what a bushel
Is. There's the song, "I love you
A bushel and a peck," it adds
"A hug around the neck." So
Sweet. We saw Oklahoma four
Times when it played Broadway
In 2002. At least 4. Burt never
Did anything but all out. I am
Grieving that. The shows we
Saw; the ones we never will see.
The memories I hold and share
For both of us, because he does
Not. I am losing who he is; he is
Too. He's not always sure who
I am; in the night, he calls out
Hello, it's Burt. He has to identify
Himself, maybe as proof of who.
I am grieving and it just might be
More than my share. It's his share
As well. By the bushel or the gallon
Or the gas tank. Please fill 'er up.
Let me grieve to identify myself
As the one who loves, who misses.
this is our life 