The teapot yawns
exactly where I left it,
having slept through my absence
more faithfully than a cat.
The paintings on the walls
feign stillness
and the photographed figures
on the fridge stand in tableau,
pretending that they didn’t gather
to party in my memory
while I was soaked
in the constant shifts
of the present.
The hands of clocks tick steadily,
claiming time existed here
just as it did while I stared
at the contours of a foreign horizon.
Now I wonder if you
frowned and looked up
to feel the chill
of my absence,
or if you are still tucked
warmly into bed, a book laced
through your fingers, waiting
to give in to the muted melody
of sleep.

~ Josh Stewart

Josh Stewart is fan of hats, Tuesdays, and sushi. His first poetry chapbook, Invention of the Curveball, was released with Cactus Press in 2008.

Read more of ‘s poetry:
Opening into Nothingness
Man of Glass

Leave a Reply