our house still feels empty,
feels cold
i’m tracing grout on the bathroom floor
our shower’s growing mold
laundry’s been out of the question
your car’s still parked out on the road
bread’s stale and going bad
and the lawn will not be mowed
don’t know how or when
it happened
but i can’t remember your
smile, your cheeks, your laugh and
yet i still see you
at the table, across from me
the way your hands wrap around
that stupid mug of honey tea
and the daffodil sweater
i folded so neatly
collects dust in your drawer
which i ignore completely
and i don’t buy newspaper,
or keep spare change
like you used to do
i hate ink and vanilla, and it feels so strange
knowing i can almost picture you
dancing down our hallway
whispering sweetly,
i’ll love you always
but our home is just my home
And always has come and gone
each night i lie in our sheets
waiting for the dawn
and if i fall asleep,
i’ll stay on my side of the bed
‘cause if i leave a space for you
it might raise you from the dead