Her room was empty,
Except it was not.
Filled with the trappings of
Her life like
the abandoned teddy she received from her
The now barren desk she hammered out
Her last minute essays,
The blue fairy curtains
That captured her dreams,
And the small empty trinket box
She once kept her bicycle lock key in.
A part of me went with her,
Or so I felt.
For sure, life will continue,
Just my breath comes in ragged jabs
And my voice wavers and my eyes are flat.
Oh to laugh over popcorn and the Arsenio Hall show,
To sing while I did mountains of her laundry,
To bake her favorite cookies,
To run out the door late yet another day
While she procrastinated about
Getting out of bed.
Will my house ever
Hold that level of love again?