it seems every woman I meet
is named Cathy with a C
or Kathy with a K
you were a Cathy
Look
I went to your funeral with him

so he wouldn’t be alone
Mormons sat in the front row
they’d found you in the nursing home
fading with Lou Gehrig’s Disease
because you’d signed the Book
once, during your decades-long marriage

your husband
mine now
sat still as a stele
but I
but I
wanted to belly dance around your urn

your brass zils’ bell and clatter between my fingers
the oud vibrating in my ears as I listened, boxed
rack after rack of your Turkish CDs
too many to just toss or give away
no one would have so many if not
for love