To Cope

She leans heavily on the yellowing formica counter,
work-worn fingers fumble the string of plastic pearls;
Lower lip trembling, she stifles a sob,
and blindly gazes out the window.

A lone tear glistens in her eye,
then reluctantly rolls down her now-pallid cheek;
She wipes her sweat-streaked brow with a frayed dishrag,
and in desperation, lets out a sigh.

She hears the faint pattering of raindrops on the window pane,
and realizes her loss;
As the rain gently washes away the chalky remains of
hopscotch etchings in the driveway;
The hauntingly distant laughter of an innocent child
echoes in her memory.

by C. S., Auburn, NH