Subsistence

So in the end, you were reduced to a framed photo in the hall.
Time took your soft hand in his, and led you away.
An aching vacuum was all that was left.
That, and an irreplaceable absence on your side of the bed.

I open my eyes in the morning,
Your untouched glasses stare back at me from the bedside table.
I walk into the kitchen, and put the water to boil.
Your empty tea cup stares back at me.

As I step into the bathroom,
Your bristly old toothbrush sits beside mine.
Comforting, standing tall and stoic as always.
I gave you a hard time for not replacing them with new ones. I wonder why.

The batteries of the remote need replacing.
Sometimes it's the omnipresence of your absence,
And at others, it's a loose thread from your shirt on the sofa.
Little things that remind me of you.

They say it's time I cleared your wardrobe.
But even if I dust the very last stray thread off the sofa,
What about the consuming blanket of countless memories
That you've woven around my very being?

Even now, if I listen closely,
I can still hear your chappals echo down the verandah.
As you go to pick up the morning paper.
But today, I cannot hear the news headlines read out in your voice.