Over by Alex Gibson

He grips the door handle.

His woolen coat absorbing the stained

glass light.

She had loved that glass window, 

the way the evening sun set

the birds and flowers alight.

The greens and browns reflected

on the aged carpet.

The way when he sat on the sofa, 

reading the paper the dying light

struck his thin framed glasses. 

Set his eyes on fire.

It was beautiful.

Now it’s not. 

He grips the door handle. 

She stands in the kitchen, holding her 

lasagna, the heat seeping through

her worn pot holders.

She used to love making her mother’s 


How he would devour it and sing

her praises.

She loved the way that after every meal he’d 

rise and take care of the dishes, 

letting her sit and relax.

It was wonderful.

Now it’s not. 

He opens the door, 

with one last look at her.

A burdened sigh and he steps out, 

the door gently shut behind him.

The lights have dimmed. 

The lasagna cooled. 

She sets the pan down and retires

to their bedroom.

Well, to her bedroom. 

Alex Gibson is a full time student at Hagerstown Community College. They enjoy writing poetry and short stories. They currently have no published work. 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *