The Mourning Dove's Song

by Tracy Grimaldi

The soft September breeze whispers through the window, kissing my face as I sit at the table, sipping my coffee. I close my eyes and the softness becomes her lips against my cheek. Anna--my Anna.

Outside, gathered at the base of a feeder, mourning doves bask in the warmth of the fading sun. It's five o'clock, but time is not what holds my thoughts hostage--what captures me is the mourning dove's song. The low, sad, mournful melody embraces me. It contains the words I cannot speak--the tears I cannot cry--the sadness I cannot escape. It rips the grief from my heart, spilling it into my soul. I become their song.

The phone's ring places my reflections on hold.

"Hello?"

"Hi Dad." My son's voice is hesitant. "How're you doing?"

"I'm fine." Two years today, and I'm still not fine.

"I really miss Mom."

"I know. I miss her too."

We say our goodbyes and I return to the table as the sun ends its day's journey. Night approaches and the birds fade away, settling into their nests--warm and familiar like the pain that has settled into me--comfortable--at home.

Tracy Grimaldi Is a retired Vet Tech from Virginia Beach. Her work has appeared in Moondance:Celebrating Creative Women. She can be reached at tracylgrimaldi@aol.com