Marking time until daybreak
in Frasier reruns and infomercials,
I doze in-and-out of late night TV:
this is the day you come home.
I don’t sleep well alone.
I don’t awake well, either.
The pups bookend my body
as I stretch out on the couch,
missing you in dog days
without benefit of explanation.
They know only to hate suitcases;
they are not pack animals.
It’s not that you have been gone long,
it’s that you have been gone.
It’s not that I can’t live without you,
it’s that I don’t want to.
It’s daylight and Gracie runs upstairs
convinced she will find you.
“She’ll be home tonight,” I say
as she slinks back and sits at my feet.
Lola lays heavy on your purple pillow.
Pining is exhausting work.
The day feels like a week for us all.
I pour my coffee and leave yours in the pot.
For better or for worse, we said —
for richer and for poorer.
I want to go back and add one simple line:
for bed and for breakfast.