These Hazy Days

Losing Petals

this house grows emptier every day.
it's aging, too, as I am.
lines on my face and furniture deepen—
crow's feet muss cotton bedsheets.
the pink cosmos on the dining table
have lost their petals to early wilt.

while I wash my dirty dishes,
the mountain stands impervious
to my small and simple life.
it through the kitchen window looms:
razor blades sheathed in blue snow,
edges cloaked and outlines soft,
asleep beneath a beloved blanket
held by a child grown and gone.

Canada geese hasten overhead,
leaving their stark stamp against the sky.
like sun spots, their signature remains
long after they've passed.

there's only one hen left in the yard now.
she's taken it upon herself
to announce each day's awakening.
she crows not loudly, nor proudly,
but with the solemn grace
of a mourning dove.
her sister died yesterday.
I found her lying in the shade garden
as rainfall graced the lacy palms
of lady's mantle.
the burial was slow, laborious.
I rimmed her grave with river stones.

I need you here. please.
who else knew how to love like you?
who else straightened the pictures
on these walls?
I need your presence.
I'm not asking for your touch.
I need to hear the familiar sounds
of your feet on their way
to the bathroom at night.
I need you to show me the answers
to word scrambles in the paper.
I need your eye for fashion,
your enthusiasm for the cold.
I'll need your help with apple-picking,
with planting spring's new crop.
and when our last hen lays down and dies,
I'll need you standing there with me,
digging a new grave by my side.

NOTE: I guess empty houses have been on my mind a lot recently. I've realized I write about them, and reference them, often. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this and thank you for reading. :)