Your shoes still sit in the kitchen closet,
A hardening leather pair collecting dust.
Outlines of your feet that walked the yard you mowed,
The grass stains still visible on the soles.
I cannot bring myself to wash or throw away
These relics of your existence.

The morning light filters through curtains 
And touches the bedroom walls you painted
Casting shadows where your laughter used to live, 
Where your voice would whisper my name like a prayer.
I find myself reaching across the bed at dawn, 
My fingers searching for the warmth of your shoulder
Finding only cool sheets and the echo of dreams.
 
Your books remain open to pages you'll never finish.
Bookmarks suspended in stories that wait,
Like I wait for footsteps that will not come, 
For keys that will not turn,
For a door that stays silent.

The garden shed you built stays quiet without you.
Tools that remain unused in a springtime that feels colder now, 
Their patina carrying whispers of your hands in the soil 
Your smile in the spring rain.

I wear your blue jean jacket sometimes
Breathing in the fading scent of your cologne and kindness,
Wrapping myself in denim and memories
In the phantom embrace of arms that once held
My whole world together.
 
Time moves like honey now -
Thick and golden and slow. 
Each day a page in a book I am learning to read alone.
Each sunset a reminder that love remains
Even when the beloved has become Starlight. 


By Diane E. Dockum
©April 19, 2026


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