She left behind half a dozen disposable razors
The color of our backyard roses
Delicate, thin handles, curved
Gently to fit the hand of one
Who still yelled when she nicked herself
In the shower
Throw them away unused?
I don't think so!
She would never consider such a waste
So I use them for a purpose
A bit beyond their intended
To scrape a layer off my face
Very sharp, well-balanced, easy to use
One by one they grow dull
And find their way into the wastebasket
Under the bathroom sink
Never to be used again
My supply grows small
What else about her life
Will I use to be wise and frugal
To finish off the last of a batch
To keep from wasting what is left
Of her memory
And then it's gone?
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