He thought she knew, he said,
explaining;
he thought she knew that staying
late meant
something...else, meant
somebody;
meant petals drifting down his
cheek,
meant flowers bursting in his
heart,
meant summer surging up the
stair-well,
smashing through his office door
and cradling
her
in sunlight.
He thought she knew, he said,
explaining;
he thought she knew that these
things happen, sometimes;
so many wives lose out to typing
fingers,
trembling light as tapping leaves;
to fresh young cheeks that burn
out old men’s eyes;
to tumbling clouds of hair
close-gathered in
by hands that shake and wear a
wedding ring
and probe a deep compulsion...
He thought she knew, he said,
explaining.
(October,
1986)
