The living room is the same. 

The floor is messy. 

Cotton and dust still spilling

and spilling

and spilling

and spilling

onto a burgundy rug. 

The walls are empty,

blank canvases of a home abandoned.

The dining table takes up too much space,

clutter piled high on the edges like mountain ranges. 

At the end of the mountain, he sits alone.

It is quiet. There is nobody to talk to.

His phone is placed carefully to his right,

Close to his hand. 

He won’t call. 

He glances at it, the screen is black, 

reflecting worn eyes and leathery skin. 

The stubble on his chin, peppered gray and white. 

There are two plates on the table.

Both are his. From today and yesterday. 

Tomorrow there will be three plates.

This poem is meant to reflect one of my biggest worries about leaving for college: the aftermath. My parents are divorced which means that once I depart, my father and mother will be completely alone at home. I can only imagine that moments like dinner time will be far lonelier without my company. 

Editors: Nikki J Zoe L. Sam L. 

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