I pulled into the driveway
with my sports car packed so tight
with groceries from the co-op
she requested for tonight.
I slid my key into the lock
and gently pushed the door
and found the house more empty
than it ever was before.

The photos hung upon the wall
(our dog in funny hats)
had vanished in the aether
with our bin of yoga mats.
She took the new panini press
and gossip magazines
and robbed the fridge of Greek yogurts
but left the kale and greens.

The gift cards to the restaurants
unwrapped on Christmas Day
no longer in the envelope
where gift cards used to stay.
The vinyl cling up on the wall
had joined her as she fled
but I didn't have to think too hard
to remember what it said:

She lived, she laughed,
she loved, she left,
she's gone now all the same.
For all she'd eaten
prayed and loved
she left just like she'd came.
And man, I miss seeing her there
and wish for one more chance
to see her little butt squeezed up
in those tight yoga pants.