The Kitchen

I'm standing in the kitchen;

what was our kitchen.

You had a baking nook

in our kitchen,

a nook in which you prepared

homemade pizza and

gourmet cheesecake.

We shredded the mozzarella

by hand, always saving a 

little bit for our puppy dog,

so you could pour a pile

onto the floor for her to enjoy --

the same floor on which

we would occasionally drop

ice cubes, which she would

promptly grab in her mouth

and relocate to the living room

rug to chomp on.

Now the kitchen is quiet.

There is no more

homemade cheesecake

or cheese on the floor

or a doggie to eat it.

There is no more you.

There is no more Us.