The Widow

Wrapped in six yards of white muslin, banished from her home with a tonsured head, she faces a curse of loss of colours ever since her husband was brought in dead. Mummified for life she still exists breathing, eating bland food, all desires unfed Bare feet, she lays herself to sleep curling up pillowless, on a cold wooden bed But when she sleeps she often dreams of butterflies and blossoms in purple and red.