There are fingerprints staining every window
There are new doors, yet to be hung
The sunshade’s still put away from last winter
The closets are full of junk to be considered
There is old art hanging in the breakfast nook
There is an un-played game to be found in the sunroom
The posters in our den need a serious refresh
The sauce packet drawer is all wrong
There are monsters growing under
the kids’ uncomfortable beds
There are dead trees, and live weeds
almost everywhere one looks
The garage still takes in water during heavy rains
The lightbulbs offer nothing in the way of uniformity
There is something of a hump
in the middle of our mattress
There is not enough insulation in our dual-entry attic
The bathrooms are begging to be remodeled
The concrete driveway needs re-poured
There are uncertain dreams lurking in my office
There are emergency waters crowding your hybrid
The hallway walls now house
photos of dead loved ones
The dining room has known more alcohol than food
And I am afraid…
afraid that the next time we leave this place,
I will have to return to it without you
The cat would likely wither in his unaccepting search
The living room would need to be given a new name
Tis a strange thing to consider our frailty,
and we rarely do so as we slip into
the unconscious nights
But that hourglass I once chided
now lays in limbo, on its side
For there is no way of knowing
the true number of hours we will uncover
So it is that (tonight) I choose
the gentle sound of your snoring
over the rough reset of sleep;
trying to trust in this treacherous universe
to return us safely home again