we kept a horseshoe above the front door,

a formica table with twinkling stars we found in a garage sale,

kitchen green with plants hanging off every edge,

and shelves you made me by hand. 

you kept photos of me by your side of the bed

and I rested my hand on your back when I slept. 

we had hooks for our keys with our initials,

your grandmothers meatball recipe in the far kitchen drawer,

and a lighter from our night in japan sat safe on our desk. 

the dog kept her paws off the kitchen floor,

I cried in the shower so you couldn’t tell,

and you slept further away til my hand couldn’t reach.

shards from a glass you threw stuck to my selena record I kept on the wall,

you turned my photos face down, 

and your coffee mug stayed in the same spot for weeks after the day you left.