You can’t see me but I can see you
I watch you drink your morning coffee
From my old seat at our dining table
And I perch on the edge of the tub
As you sit quietly on the toilet
Scrolling through Twitter on your phone
The same phone that holds
The last picture you took of me
The one you like to look at
Before you go to sleep
I help you scrub your back
In the shower that is too cold
But I can’t feel the bubbles
As they cascade down your skin
You shiver when I touch you
And hurry out to dry off
I watch you dress in the same clothing
In the same order as you did before
Left to right and top to bottom
Your shoes and belt are last
I listened to your call with our son
Who now lives far away
He really hates his job
but loves his new place
Our daughters will stop by later
To bring you a casserole
That you won’t eat
Because you still aren’t hungry
And because you prefer peanuts
Or Goldfish Crackers
I wave goodbye to you
As you pull out of the drive
To go to work
Or to have a beer
Which you do more often
And earlier in the day
I see my flowers on the porch
Still in the pots you bought for me
They are brown and stiff
Because they are last year’s blooms
You haven’t replaced them
You don’t see them either
I sit on the couch to wait
The house is quiet
I can hear every creak
As it settles into the earth
It is the same sound
My sturdy coffin makes
But there I can’t be with you
So I stay here and watch instead