She brewed herself a cup of coffee,
her husband already fed.
Sent off into the horizon
with provisions and well wishes
and kind professions of love
to keep his heart warm.

She brewed herself a cup of coffee.
She'd lain in bed an extra hour,
Awake,
hands reaching to the spot where her husband belongs.
She sips on her coffee
two sugars, splash of cream,
and stares at the bleak horizon.

She brewed herself another cup of coffee,
she wasn't going to sleep anyway.
The rain pours and pours, the wind rattles the windows
and her fragile frame.
She tries to quiet her thoughts with reading
and she lays on the right side of the bed.

She brews herself another cup of coffee,
and it tastes extra bitter,
but it's the coffee she's always had.
She sleeps on the left side, as always
just in case.