Years later when we meet again. I’ll see you sitting on what used to be our park bench. You’ll give me that same sweet smile, grimmer now but still so beautiful. I’ll marvel at how I thought once I could love you. We walk arm in arm for our last dance. We talk of the past and how it can never be taken from us but wonder where do feelings go?
I ask him if he’s happy as he thought he would be and the gleam in eyes and wedding ring tells me he is. For a moment, they are a blade to my rib cage, but then he tells a joke and in that instant. the cut doesn’t feel so deep. We are both here but not here. I confess, I’d hope he’d see me and be presence with me like he was before, like there was no other woman waiting for him behind a door now closed to me.
We walk toward the street he lives. I can tell he’s anxious to get home. He mentions her name. It sounds like the ocean in the creek of my ear. He moves towards his sideways gravity. He’s reached the vanishing point with me. And no, we’ll probably never meet again. We part with a kiss on the cheek, a barren bow and Goodbye.
And then there’s the smell of pine trees, damp as if freshly plucked. The cemetery nearby with the dead in it, and rain from the sky falling lile a melody-the affection I had for him/ gone, like a nightingale’s rib cage cleanly picked.