In the doorway

After my wife died
and the friends left
and the flowers also died

I'd come home from work
and stand in the doorway
and, as I'd done for twenty years,
call into the house

"Hey-loh-oh!"
up to the octave, down to the fifth
hand on the doorknob
waiting for her to call back
from some unseen cutting board 
or pot of paint
waiting in that moment when
she had not yet not answered.