Her blue glass is undisturbed in it's curio
with no notion of it's fate.
The clock on her wall is still ticking,
it won't stop because
she or anyone else has come and gone.
Nor the relentless irony of the fact
that you are the only part of her
that haunts this space now
in whose veins flow hot blood and tears.
You and that houseare orphaned together now.
Is this how she felt when you flew away?
Wandering in the space you left,
touching your things--your warm pillow,
the grocery list in your hand writing,
clothes that still smelled like you-
and knowing without a doubt
that you wouldn't catch her?
Soon you will have to perform
the forbidden ritual of taking down her blue glass
and all the things that made her mark on this earth,
and the orphaned house will be the same space it was
before she arrived