It was palatable as I got out of the car,
the worn grass, tiny anthills on exposed earth,
where a second car spent the summer.
Inside there were the empty places ,
where so many shoes vied for space, until today
when they vanished, exposing bare
floor, in the wake of your departure,
like leaves falling toward
the next stages of their transformation.
I could say I am lonely, but I’m not, really
or that I am just missing you, almost enough.
Though in truth it is the constriction,
this change in the size of my life,
this narrowing toward,the point
at which I might vanish, my story lost.
Unfinished, ghostly, echoing like a tea party,
still faintly visible at the kitchen table,
though now I have to close my eyes to see it,
and the words are indistinct though faces smile.
Entering, I choose a spot in the ample space
placing my shoes, I move toward my bedroom
think briefly, then turn on my laptop to begin
reading the words my fingers create, tapping,
revealing, who it is that I am becoming