Maureen Butler

Maureen Butrler has been a professional actor/director most of her life and currently lives in Maine.  She lived in Galway, Ireland for a year where she studied poetry with Kevin Higgins, and rediscovered her passion for this form of expression.  She is married and lives with her husband and two enormous dogs.

When You Die

When you die
You only know part of that day
You won’t feel fingers on the pulse
No longer there
You won’t know that snow fell an hour later
That the temperature plummeted
You won’t hear the crunch of tires on the ice
As a car pulls into your driveway
The thrum of the furnace
The cough in the Hall
The grandfather clock never again
Measuring your time
The click before amber light
Banishes gloom
But not now, not for you
You won’t see the table being laid
For mourners
Your faded gravy stain from last Christmas
That you hid under a serving bowl
Or your husband’s grimace as he
Stays glued together with every shallow breath
Breath that you will never breathe again
Your blouse on the floor
That you will never retrieve
The dishes half done
The unfulfilled apology
The hollow sound of grief
echoing behind you.