I walked into your house.
The still air, silence,
And dust in the sunlight
Reminds me of the room
A grieving mother refuses to clean.
It's easy to see you
Didn't plan on dying.
Your grocery list waits on the counter
Amid your notes and written reminders.
You placed plates and cups in the sink
To wash later.
And the stacks of books you planned
To read cover the floor
Near a broom leaning against
The kitchen table.