When All You Have Left

Written in memory of my late wife, Irma Gomez Cox -- October 22nd, 1957 -- January 7th, 2022

When All You Have Left

Imagine, my love, our home empty, devoid of furnishings, lighting, or warmth, a home without your beautiful face,
your captivating cat-like eyes, and sweet smile to give
a melodious stir of life,
to now eerily silent still air.


Close your eyes, now sewn shut, and envision our refrigerator empty,
without a single trace,
of your fantastic cooking’s leftovers: Carne Guisada, Tamales, Enchiladas, Beans, or your handmade Flour Tortillas,
and no Miracle Whip, Mustard, Ketchup, Kosher Pickles, or your, sizzling hot as hell, fresh Picante Sauce, you knew I loved so well.


Run your COVID-twisted and deformed hands along our Cupboards �" hands with loving arms that held me so tight during the night for forty nine years.


Feel inside �" for Sugar, Flour, Massa, Cake Mixes, Cornbread Mix, Seasonings, bags of Pinto Beans, and Canned Goods �" within the dusty depths of Cupboards laid empty, and bare.


Like my broken heart, all within our home has become empty, tasteless, lifeless and meaningless without you,
when all you have left is loving memories, 
and no more tomorrows with you.