I greet the silent empty house every morning
Holding conversations as though someone
Was in the next room.
Sometimes I imagine it’s you
(Except you have never seen this house.
If you think of it at all
It’s a fleeting thought that
I must be living somewhere.)
It’s hard to fit you into these small rooms
Packed too closely
To give you room to hide.
So I talk to the ether
Which is really just talking to myself
but that’s a different conversation.
These morning chats are just that:
A kaffeeklatch of one.

#21 in 30 Poems for September

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s