I returned to your house
50 days after you left it.
I returned
to clean up because perhaps if your house is clean and tidy
then
I can tidy the chaos you left behind.
We left you there
inside a wooden box in a room with a view of your redwoods.
Your final resting place for now.
I threw away the bread you made;
washed your last load of laundry;
took down your Christmas tree;
jumpstarted your car.
I wiped down the counters
and ran my finger across the edges of your box -
Dust.
I close my eyes because I swear it was just yesterday
I drove to your house and
ran up your stairs and
Found you.
And now all I have is what’s left of you.
Dust.