All Is Still As It Was Then Poem by cahen thrips

Your half-moon glasses still sit on my bedside table;
a wardrobe is full of your clothes and faint floral scents;
your sewing machine I've now donated to a good user -
I'd be only too pleased to buy a new one if you could object.

Being discreet I continue to close the bathroom door
even though these days I'm always on my own;
on those rare occasions I leave the house I call as ever:
see you later - I'll be back before long.

Life goes on, for habits are not of morning mist
evaporating with the warmth of a rising sun,
but of a material more granite, permanent, without shift
so cannot be broken quite so soon.

Under a full moon a vixen poised on our lawn
stares at me with not a sign of fear; in mystery
a hunting tawny owl twits sometime before dawn -
already awake I whisper to no-one: do you hear?

Recipe books lean askew on a rack in the kitchen
a lot less thumbed than when you were here.
A crocheted blanket folded neatly on a chair with
a wood carving you'd made of a moon-struck hare.

Your artworks and tapestries hang on cracked walls,
mosaics on a shelf I've installed at the top of the stairs.
Comforting to think you'll be pleased to see them there -
until I recall you'll not be coming back at all.

February 2023