You leave,

slam the door in my face,

rue the day you first set foot on this welcome mat,

and promise never to come back,


and yet,

I leave a crook in the door,

place the spare key under the potted plant,

right where you know it will be.


They come

in the masses, storm in through the door,

thieves, crooks and pickpockets,

people who aren’t you,


and yet,

I welcome them all,

as they steal my heart and your mom’s favorite vase,

to fill their void and not mine.


I leave

the lights on,

dust the shelves while you're gone,

fix the photos of us in their frame.


I stay

there in my rocking chair,

knitting a hat that would fit you just right,

drinking tea, brewed the way you like it,


So please,

do me a favor,

and leave the door open

on your way out.