Out

Her children have grown and fled the home
her husband passed
she's alone.
The lightbulb's burned out in the hallway,
between where collided both their dreams,
usually lit all night down to the dining room
and the sliding glass patio door.
Outside, he sat, cigarette lit.
The motion light was on
A raccoon,
or one of the neighborhood does
or maybe he really is still out there, marlboro in hand
asking for one last forehead kiss good night.

The first time in 74 years
she's lived in an empty home
it's going to be tough for her
but she's not alone.