Absence

Your flowered dress is draped

Across the back of the chair.

Your DVD is paused in the player

And your book is open on

The nightstand. Your water glass

Is in the sink, your toothbrush

In the dolphin mug, and your CDs

Stacked haphazardly atop the radio.

The carpet still has vacuum lines

Pressed into it, the way you liked,

And the box of your cereal is half-full.

I sit on my half of the bed

(your socks are still down at the end)

And wait to remember how to breathe.

Everything is here, except for you.