He Left Me and Took the Dog

‘Where are you?’

I mumble to that empty space beside me,

my eyes, still hazy

from sleep, dreams, and the early morning sun

squeezing in through the gaps

of partially opened blinds.

I consider the empty space

for a moment,

resting my eyes on the creased pillow

that has somehow edged its way closer and closer

to mine

throughout the night

an oversized marshmallow

sweet vanilla white

like my wedding dress--

but that party's over now.

I note the carelessly tossed duvet,

and the living breathing notebook

on the bedside table,

a coffee ring stain on its cover;

a pen tucked into the last visited page.

The dog’s bed is empty.

I am irked by intrusive rumbles from outside,

then I remember: it is bin day;

rumbles of bin-wheels

on concrete canvas,

and I smile.

I smile because I never have to take out bins.

I smile because I know

that within that notebook

linger stories

of how our children laughed.

My name infused with intimacy

occasionally graces the pages.

I smile because the door opens

our dog bounds in,

playful,

having been fed and taken out.

I smile because

a cup of tea enters the bedroom,

followed by my husband,

and just like on our honeymoon,

playful mischief twinkles in his eyes.

* * * * * *

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