A warm kitchen,
A half full cup of tea,
A soft, pink smudge on her mug,
Her silk dressing gown over the chair,

Only spilt milk.

The clink of the door catch,
Soft footfalls on the stair,
A radio faint in the air,
Her sweet, off key hum,

Shoes cluttering the doorway,
Her clothes left on the floor,
Spots of talcum scattered in the sink,
The scent of lily perfume lingering,

The mirror cracked.

I sit,
Staring at the door.

A cold kitchen,
A half empty cup of tea,
Only stale breakfast crumbs

and me.