Dust

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.