Emalyn Sharp

There’s laundry in the dryer,
A wine glass in the sink.
Dirt is caked to the floor,
The computer screensaver blinks.

The dishwasher is half full,
A towel hangs on the bathroom door. 
A pretzel jar sits by the desk, 
Waiting for you to take some more. 

There’s a razor on the bathroom counter,
A get-well card fixed to the wall. 
Jacket tossed over the arm of a chair,
Your phone lights up: another missed call. 

Events still marked on your calendar
Appointments you can no longer keep.
The days that were all crossed off,
Stopped sometime last week. 

It’s all just how you left it,
But now there’s silence in the air. 
The life’s been drained out,
It feels so wrong without you there.

Frozen in waiting, the place will never change. 
The hospital records cannot be erased.
It’s now just a house — no longer a home,
and the laundry in the dryer will forever sit alone.