An Empty Nest

The Last One Leaves

The packed car leaves.

A hand lifted waves

an obligatory farewell.

She does not look back.

I cannot look forward.

As the years pass,

it seems my life has

become a series of goodbyes.

I sit in a room

surrounded by photos

of dead dogs.

Turning my head

I catch sight of portraits -

children, long grown

and gone away.

There is a hollowness

to my house

that once vibrated

with voices.

Then, I longed for

Quiet.

Now quiet follows

me like a spectre,

whispering of times

already fading in my memory.

I turn on the radio

to chase the ghosts away

But find no cure for the

constricting in my throat,

the empty heart

rattling in my chest.