Standstill

It's late.
Eyelids heavy and head sunken in a pillow,
Just chirping crickets and passing cars
Until the ring of a phone
Cuts through the silence.

Ears pick up the muffled footsteps
Of dad shuffling down the creaky stairs
And groggy whispers.
All falls silent once more.

The shower isn't running the next morning.
The coffee not brewed,
The paper unopened.

As more days go by,
More cards appear on the kitchen counter,

Along with bouquets of flowers left untouched and wilting on the porch.