no coffee to fix
but mine in the morning
no meals to prepare
that were barely touched
no tv blasting
in the living room
no keyboard clicks
from his bedroom
no small talk
nor shouting
no witnessing
anxiety attacks
no gasping for breath
when he tried to walk
no listening patiently
to talk of impending death
no goodnight hugs
or kisses
no one to share
my paintings with
no genuine praise
of my budding work
no one but me
in his and my home
silence pervades
every room
and, oh, how loud
the quiet can be
©️2026 Kate McCormick
Kate, love the colors and textures of the painting. It perfectly matches the powerful loneliness exposed in your beautfully rendered poem!…; -)
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Thank you, Liam. My husband and I were married for close to twenty-six years before he died, and though we had a stormy relationship, I miss his presence…still. 💙
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I suspect that the ‘missing’ will eventually become less burdensome. But it will undoubtedly remain… that’s a long time to have been close to someone, ‘stormy’ or not… a presence that has grown with you, undoubtedly at least particularly responsible for some of the shape of person you’ve become… kind of like the growing and shaping of a bonsai… But how you grow now is more or less up to you…; -)
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