The Walk Upstairs

Written by: victor dixon

Finished off the casseroles
a while ago;
actually gave them to
someone with an appetite.
The neighbors have taken
your parking space.
The hallway’s unlit now,
but I still see the unhappiness in the mirror
even in the dark.
You always left the light on.
I cling to the railing;
it’s caught me more than once.
Each step leaves me breathless,
each ascent lifeless –
stranded and abandoned
without even a shadow.
It’s just as you left it inside.
I haven’t dirtied a dish.
The calendar still says June;
only the clock moves on –
ticking countdown.
Sometimes it’s too much
so I sleep outside the door
and guard what you left behind –
protect what was.
Slumber reunites us,
but daylight exposes me.
And the pity’s infected their whispers.