Without you in my life, in our home,
the cat would squeeze between the cupboard door
and dig into the unzipped bag of nori.

Bears would walk past the gate left ajar,
stride inside the dog pen we've let go wild
and feast on tidbits from the compost pile.

Mice would slip into the silverware drawer
leaving black rice turds in exchange for the crumbs
that I thoughtlessly wiped into them.

Salesmen would saunter right through the backdoor,
ignoring the mud room and catch me in the kitchen
putting a bag in the fridge without a twisty-tie.

Neighbors would see me in the night,
dancing in my underwear, entertaining divorcees,
and wish I'd close the windows and shut the blinds.

Gossip would ensue, people would ask about you
and I'd tell them everything. There'd be no secrets.
Your casket would be all that remained shut.