Wednesday, September 30, 2015


one cup
in the sink
(i'll never wash it)

one coat
on the chair
(i'll never move it)

one brush
on the table
one sock
in the bathroom

one pen
in the potted plant
(don't ask)

no sound
from the kitchen
(where there was singing)

no light
in the sitting room
(where there was reading)

no smile
through the window
no laughter
on the phone

no dancing
in the living room
(i never asked her)

in my head
are the memories
of what's gone 

in my house
are the memories
of what's left

an inventory
of what she was

reminding me
of who she was

and what 
i should have been

before her life 
left her

and the quiet
came for me



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