There’s a big funeral in the village of Benafim at ten,
a lady of forty six is being buried,
usually people are in their late eighties before they depart,
hence so many cars parked in the village main street.

‘Was she involved in an accident?’
I ask the postmistress before she closes to go to the funeral.
‘No she killed herself after her husband left her,
sleeping pills I think
the casket is open,
want to come along?’
‘No’

Poor lady
she must have been upset
and very lonely,
perhaps they had been trying to get children
and when none came
he found a younger woman
and left her sitting there in the stillness of an approaching twilight.

Slowly her world became darker and smaller,
drawn curtains
unhooked phone
drowning in the murky sea of loneliness
and no one around to throw a life belt,
a friendly word that would have made a difference.
Only death knocked on her door.