They Are Here Somewhere

They are all here somewhere;
I can see the evidence.
Backpacks--one in the basket, two beside it.
Coats are on hooks and shoes are scattered about the entryway.

The kitchen says that someone has been here;
counters with tell-tale crumbs.
Chairs not quite pushed back under the table.
Dishes that started the journey to the dishwasher and didn't quite make it.

In the family room, there are books;
a few lying face-down, open.
A blanket sliding from the couch to the floor.
TV remotes stuck in the crevice created by someone sitting in the recliner.

The bathroom mirror is steamy;
damp towels on the floor.
The drawer where the comb resides is ajar.
Toothpaste tube with cap mostly on lies next to wet toothbrushes.

Yes, they are here somewhere;
or were recently.
But now the house is growing quieter.
I find myself wandering aimlessly, wondering how they got by me.