Love Sound

I remember the pop and hiss,
of the bacon, as you dropped it into the pan,
Just before you left me.

You squealed like a pig being chased
before slaughter,
Because you knew how much I hated that noise.

After breakfast, the dog scratched
at the door and whined.
You told me not to follow as you clipped
the leash onto her harness.

“I’ll be right back,” you said,
before closing the door too hard.

I watched you through the window as you walked,
up the street, and kept going,
until you faded away.

I remember the sounds of your leaving—
the hissing, squealing, whining,
and the slam of the door,
And I don’t know why I never realized
how used to those sounds I had become.

I wonder now,
why I wasn’t the first to leave.