Welcoming a Guest

Let me welcome this guest,
dressed in the grays of grief.
Let me open the door, smile,
share a drink:
tea or something harder
and wait for the words,
the conversation to unfold
in the diffuse light
through the windows on
this hazy summer day.
Let me show that hospitality
that my mother taught me.
Let him in--
at least I'm not alone.
Anyone can be a teacher.
Let me look into his old face
and search, wait for the light
to slip from his eyes
as it surely must.
Maybe he can explain
my unsettled stomach,
the tangled sheets in which
I find myself,
why my eyes well up
at certain sounds--
tell me where the taste in
my food has gone,
what is grabbing at me
as I try to rise.
Come in, weary traveler.
Come in.