couldn’t tear herself away from the table
she was more than just full at the end of the feast
was loathe to return
where she had to face an empty room
only echoes and boxes and new paint
assailed her senses
not quite blocking
memories
of embraces and laughter and hope
snippets of better times intruded
pity and heartwarming notes uninvited
deepened the crack in her sore heart
she was able to save her tears
for the ride home
listening to Dean Martin sing
maudlin Christmas tunes
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The Word Rummager 
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