The speaker addresses her husband, Abe, as if he were still in the house with her. The poem suggests he has died, though it never says so outright. She keeps her love alive through ordinary, hands-on tasks: looking at photographs, writing stories about their life, moving his journals into the hall, collaging the bedroom wall. Writing is what keeps her "brave" and "feeling better," and she admits that without it the house would fall into "disarray," which hints at how fragile things feel.
The poem shifts when she begins to speak to him directly. She recalls their gazebo, invites him to listen to a bird, and imagines them reading Shalom Aleichem in the shade. The tone is tender and gently playful, even a little pleading in "Just a minute... not for long." The last line, "Then go, my Abe," lands quietly. She wants one more shared moment, and then she lets him leave. The mood is loving, bittersweet, and quietly accepting.