Company

A cold quiet evening,

the dog is thirsty for companionship

as I build the fire,

release the cat from the bedroom,

eat a handful of wasabi almonds,

pour myself a glass of juice.

I can feel the emptiness in my fingers and my toes,

the chill never quite leaving since this morning

when I stepped out of my robe and slippers

onto the stone tile of the bathroom floor.

I remember walking across a dew dappled lawn in summer,

before even the moose were stirring

and my feet were soaked through.

I had to wring out my socks and hang them up to dry

like a pauper’s Christmas.

My wife hasn’t left me because the marzipan is still on the coffee table

and the dog.

But still,

the quiet.

I might close my eyes.

Dean at Home: The Pandemic Blog