Absence Makes the Heart

I wake up from my nap. The house is empty. You said you were going to the store, but that was many hours ago. In mind, when I awake, I become a widow. Upstairs, I empty the dishwasher with a widow’s grace. With widow’s weariness, I wipe the counters. I think of all the men, over years of marriage, I wished I could have fucked and now can. And then air pushes through the door. It is you. Your sweat. Your healthy grocery choices. Your reusable bags, full. I wipe away tears. I don’t want to be a widow anymore.


Photo by Crystal Shaw on Unsplash

Lauren Dennis

Lauren Dennis is a mother of two, violently fighting against the confinement that may or may not come with that title. She writes because she has to, and has been published in Scarlet Leaf Review, The Flash Fiction Press, daCuhna, and Microfiction Monday Magazine. She has received formal critique and feedback from the Lighthouse Writer's Workshop in Denver, Colorado, where she resides.