The night after the funeral, I walked
Still naked and damp from the shower
Through the hallways of my house.
I lingered in the doorways like a ghost,
Shadows settling like dust in the corners
And crevices of each room.
I moved through darkened rooms by touch,
Trailing my fingers along planes and angles,
The familiar geometry of my life,
Stopping to trace the curves
of my mother’s mantel clock,
The strange organic prickle of succulents,
The skin-soft leather of our old loveseat
Where she sat, heartbeat-warm, alive,
Less than a week ago;
The sweet peach note of her perfume
Lingers like a sharp exhale
Every time I fluff the pillows.
My fingers twitch instinctively
Against the cool ivory keys of the piano,
Striking one lingering, discordant note.
It’s strange how much the same
This world remains, I think,
Without her in it.
Her fingerprints still mark the edge
Of the glass-topped coffee table;
Her slippers tucked under her chair.
These are the remnants of a life,
This is what we leave behind. I wander,
A ghost. An orphan in my own home.
Prompt Day Nineteen: Based loosely on the idea given by the prompt of a “walking archive.”