Nobody Answers

When she walks into an empty,
dark house it hits her as a wind tunnel. It’s deafening,
as her hand places the key into the slot and turns
the **** to open the door. It used to be a lively place,

of kids and pets and toys
spewed all over the floor, chocolate stuck
to the couch, and little finger-prints, like art-work
coloring the walls. The television would be

singing in a sugar-coated voice
a rhyming silly song. Now it hardly gets
turned on. It’s only a black, plastic box sitting slothful,
as the logs in fireplace. Those logs are cold

as stone. There hasn’t been a fire in many years
to keep them warm. Her phone doesn’t ring much
anymore. And when it does it’s only a bill collector. Her
children are no longer living there; they have

their own lives. Her friends have divorced
and are in the dating pool. Now a day she spends
most of her time socializing on her computer. Silence
creeps in stealthy and grows like a cancer. You call out
his name. Nobody answers.