In Which I Try Not To Think

My kitchen table's empty for the first

Time since the last I had a dinner guest.

My living room has also seen of burst

Of ordering, and it's all for the best.

Much empty space is mine to contemplate:

"'Twill help you clear your mind," my Erin said.

Perhaps it's so, but nothing will abate

The sound of longed-for voices in my head --

Though even they keep saying not to think

But just to be. I think I've no idea

How that is done. I do not want to drink

Or take a pill; I seek no panacea.

I really want to find a little peace.

But grief keeps stalking like a hungry beast.