Diane Webster
HOME ALONE
The house smells like her letters
when I used to live without her.
Her afghan lies on the couch
with the pillow cupped for her head;
a bookmark flags the page last read;
a water glass trembles half full, half empty.
I lie on my side of the bed listening
for snores reassuring
that all is safe in the night
until sun rises morning after morning.
Author’s Comment: This poem was also part of the long poem I tried to get published. So many reminders of a person are left behind when they leave. One evening I came home, and the house smelled like the person I live with, like the letters I used to breathe in as soon as they arrived. I woke up during the night and noticed how comforting I felt when I heard snores. And how one day I was going to have to live this way, alone.
Bio: I try to stay observant of life whether it be everyday events or drives in the mountains where I look for wildlife and scenery to inspire my writing. I work in the production department of the local newspaper office. My poetry has appeared in “The Orange Room Review,” “Illya’s Honey,” “The Hurricane Review” and other literary journals.
Wild Goose Poetry Review 
Diane, this poem is exquisitely sad.