Unbound

Black doesn’t suit her for she craves fuschia, amber, mauve, and cyan.
Peacock feathers and shiny gold beads are the things she needs
yes, needs to weave through her vibrant red hair.
Not this dark, veiled hat that covers her curls and hides her striking blue eyes.

But funerals demand black, scream for tears.
For one day, she’ll provide both.
A trip to Goodwill, menthol smeared beneath her eyes.
Sure, she can be the grieving widow for a day,
smile over tuna casserole and peach pie.

All she has ever wanted is everything he owned.
And, oh yes, now she has it.