In the Shower

The Pantene Pro V so belonged to her.
I am almost done with it,
have almost used it up--
one less object that she touched,
one less reminder daily of her beauty,
her long blond hair and its clean smell.
I can’t cry on cue the way he wants me to.
If I could I would do it here
in the shower
where the tears would wash down
the drain with my flakes of skin
and shedded hair.

I cry when I am about to enter our building
unlocking the front door with its big square key.
In the elevator I tip my face in the corner
where she will never stand again.

I feel more kinship with wartorn parents
whose children have been killed than
my next door neighbor with her two living daughters.

As my tears fall I think of the millions of others
who have grieved over the one they loved deepest.
My tears are but a tiny drop in an ocean
of salt water.