and it is Autumn…

your snow boots sit outside on the porch…next to a rake and an old folded newspaper in a bag…rust drips down from a gutter…

and it is Autumn…

dust has collected on the desk where you once sat…writing thoughts down…keeping one eye on a dog as you read poetry with the other…you never gave anything it’s full attention…

and it is Autumn…

leaves on houseplants shine…bottles of aspirin sit next to tonic…a copper mug for Moscow Mules…half a pie is gone…reading glasses haven’t been used in years…

and it is Autumn…

there are no paintings nor pictures on walls…lampshade is crooked…the knitted quilt you forbade me to use now covers a bed with lumps in the mattress…

and it is Autumn…

and…you are not here…