While you are away, I go out
into the sunless morning.
The door that closes behind me
closes forever. The house is an echo
and the silent windows reflect
only the vacant, untended garden.
I have nowhere to go
but I get into the car and drive.
All the signs are stop signs.
People in the village stop, stare
as I pass, seeing only half of me.
(Originally Published: Front Porch Review, January 2016)