Tell Me Your Spouse Has Died Without Telling Me

I don’t jump at shadows in the house,

I search the depths for familiar features.

I quietly walk through my empty home.

The rooms speak to me in murmurs, look here,

His hands wrought this, fashioned that,

Built these for you, beloved, all for you.

The sublime craftsmanship and care,

Is a love letter, filled with sweet promises of

Undying passion, protection and togetherness.

I read this letter over and over again.

He is everywhere but he is not here.

A corner of the buffet holds a wooden box

That contains all the stars of my constellation,

My dreams scattered dead around the floor.

I step over them carefully, or kick them gently

For any sign of life. Pathetic. Dead.

I stare at an alien landscape, the familiar

Made strange, bereft of light and sound, of life.

I spend ticking hours in this void,

In an endless loop.

Waiting for life to return to before.

Is death coming for me now, or

Am I already a ghost?