He called this morning—
I heard no one there
just thoughts of my husband
filled silent air.

The clock by my bed
read four forty-four,
all the same numbers
as vast times before.

I knew at a glance
He’d shook me to rise,
recalling sweet memories
as tears stung my eyes.

Walks in the park,
his arms about me,
quiet sits on our bench
beneath the oak tree.

Years spent together,
accepting the task—
we knew each one’s thoughts
without having to ask.

This cruel separation
is sometimes too great.
Soon I will join him
but must patiently wait.

Once more we’ll unite—
I’ll be with him there,
but for now only this clock,
and our love, we still share.


Tamara Hillman
©2005