Feels Like Home

I walk in my shell of a home,
empty since you left.
The kitchen is much the same;
Pots and pans cabinets and cupboards.
Food in the fridge,
leftover dinner for one.

The kitty and puppy sit in the hallway
tired after playing the day away.
The cork board is still crooked
and filled with pictures of you.
Memories and notes,
and the drawings and coloring
we sat together to do.

My bedroom and bathroom are
in the same sane crazed order
I like to keep.
Bed not made,
but clothes in precision order
in the closet.
Everything on my bathroom sink
lined up like soldiers on parade.

Your room is as the day you left,
just in case you suddenly sneak in for a nap.
your dolls and stuffed animals
sit upon shelves, tears behind plastic button eyes.
Your overfilled toy box beckons
your hands to toss and dump and play.
They want you home today.

I wander into the living room,
ready to cry,
life without you makes me sure
my heart has started to die.
I sit in my reading chair,
to leaf through a magazine
or read a book;
make the evening go away
so I can sleep and try not to think.

My idle eye sees the untidy stacks
on the coffee table and end table too.
Stacks of pictures and papers
waiting to clip and put in a scrapbook for you.
I casually peer and peak and probe.
Pictures and ticket stubs
movie theatre memories, and popcorn
light and sun and love and fun.

Memories, maybe a thousand or more.
Next time I will stop here
and look at these printed
memories we shared when first
I open my front door.