The Weight of Waiting

The sheep are gone to the slaughterhouse,
the horse resettled two farms over,
I turned the chickens loose.

I’ll keep the dogs for company, for now,
but in a few days, a week at most,
once the last of the harvest is in

I’ll find them a better home.
There is nothing for them here,
nor for myself.

I spend my evenings on the veranda
sharing sunsets with an empty chair
and more often now, an empty bottle,

and my restless nights pacing,
haunting those silent rooms,
avoiding that cold, empty bed,

and it’s too much to bear. Soon
I will leave the barn unlocked,
will follow that narrow path

down from the main house,
will follow the memory of you
out into a different world,

and when I leave, like you,
I’ll leave the gate ajar.