The Guest

The Guest
 
You still scratch your neck  
when your mind wanders
from this moment
playing Call of Duty
with the screen still too close  
to your eyes, and in between breaths
you text your girlfriend
‘come for dinner’;
I have never met her.
 
Downstairs, Dad is making  
meat sauce forgetting the garlic
I can smell from the kitchen, and  
now warmly encircling us-
I silently urge you to tell him
to add some more onion and
he, too, should know
there will be three  
at the table tonight.
 
There is one moment here
I worry you feel me  
I lean in and whisper my love,
you tilt your forehead towards me
as though expecting my kisses to fall
onto your eyelids as they used to-
they still do, you don’t know-
at every good night.
 
The doorbell rings; familiar
you slide down the banister
frustrating your father,
he calls from the foyer
and with the front door open
I hear fussing and giggles;
an energy abundant,  
a home wholly awaken.
 
I try hard to fade swiftly
without moving your  
thrown-on-floor hoodie  
too painful to follow you
it’s been a sweet visit
but for one moment more
I hold onto this space
hoping more of your world
finds its way up the staircase
while I ponder which one of you  
sits in the dining chair
closest to the kitchen.