Our House

I prop myself on the kitchen counter

Let my feet dangle

Rock softly to nothing in particular

I’ve gotten used to the sound of cotton

wispy puffs of air

Interesting how enough of it

Can muffle almost anything

I run a dry cloth over a clean spoon

Inspect for water spots

Memories of past dinners

Conversations I can still hear in

Every coffee mug and napkin ring

You were there weren’t you?

I put the spoon away

What do you do with what’s left

In a room no one lives in anymore

Do you leave clothes in unlit closets

Hung on black plastic hangers

Careful.

If you pull too hard on one

It’ll surely

Break.