Silent Goodbye


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She held his hand for the last time,
feeling the familiar grooves on his skin
brush against her own, a road map of
his life, running deep and strong. 

She would miss this, his touch, familiar,
comforting, warm.  Who would hold her hand

As they reach the doorway, too soon,
she looks down desperately trying
to stop the tears from escaping,
she wouldn’t weep, not now, not after

A silent goodbye pulsates between them,
no words necessary or to be found,
just a look.  A look of love, loss and

And then he was gone.

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Wendy Pratt

Poet, Author, Editor, Facilitator

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