Empty

At first it was as if
you just stepped away.
Everything as always:

framed family photos
lining packed bookshelves,
teapot filled for another sip
of Earl Grey, a pink shawl
draped over the recliner,
sheet music propped
on the piano – faded melodies
still curling through the halls.

Door hinges stiffen from lack
of use; plants wilt unless watered
by someone else’s hand.

Your house grows smaller
without breath and voice,
the smell of morning coffee,
daily newspaper spread
on the dining room table –

silence shattered only
by the telephone
ringing, ringing,
ringing.

Susan Moss published a chapbook of her work Keep Moving ‘til The Music Stops and is currently assembling a second manuscript In From the Dark.