One day
You will wake up and the sun will
look exactly the same,
the clutter downstairs
will sound like every other morning.
Your back will ache
in the same place,
the dishes will lie comfortably
on your desk,
dust will continue to collect
around the books you touch
mid thought.
But your father will leave
and it will feel absent, not dutiful,
your mother will smile
and it will be empty and served with
cereal,
you'll find your dog lying cold and stiff in the laundry.
You'll know, undoubtedly,
though it will take years to settle like rocks
in your stomach.
You'll know
that for every other moment following this, until you die,
it will be a raw knife edge you tread,
between Awake
and Asleep.