Robin Brown Poet Free verse

The Stillness He Left Behind

She sits in the marrow of the
quiet house,
stirring cappuccino coffee unit it
grows cold under her 
thumb.
His closet door stands wide,
an open throat
exhaling the faint, stolen
scent of cedar and old wool,
while across town, his keys
clink on a different kitchen 
counter.
She watches the dust motes
drift through the heavy 
shafts of afternoon light,
each one a tiny, forgotten 
universe slowing down to 
die,
trapped inside the stillness 
he left behind when he
chose a younger woman.

The telegraph has forgotten 
how to ring, so she speaks
only to the walls,
her voice a thin scraping of
dry leaves against the
floorboards.
She does not wash the 
mirror because her own
eyes look back like 
strangers,
hollowed out by the shadow
of the woman who took her
place. 
When darkness falls, she 
wraps herself in the heavy
quilt of her own grief,
listening to the house creak
and settle into its permanent 
isolation.
She closes her eyes not to
sleep, but disappear,
wishing the night would
swallow the remainder of her name.

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