Today's poem is by Janis Harrington

Aubade
       

I wake to the garage door rumbling up,
rush downstairs to see where Annie, who sleeps
till noon, is heading at dawn. She clasps
a stack of Nick's dress shirts, one sleeve dangling,
The Goodwill truck is coming. Help me sort.
Hair pulled back, jaw set, she shoots me
a sideways glance forbidding comment.

Neat cabinets plundered like ancient tombs,
Nick's cherished camp gear exhumed, strewn:
propane stove, bed roll, hiking poles, pup tent,
a canvas chair with the Padres logo.
His bike—helmet hung on handlebars, toe clips
empty—leans on its kickstand, as forlorn
as the fallen soldier's riderless horse.

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Copyright © 2023 Janis Harrington All rights reserved
from How to Cut a Woman in Half
Able Muse Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission