Mary at Sundown

        Mary set out two green glasses, eyes aglow,

feeling a look from across the room reverberating softly in her heart.

        Two steely sets of silver, two elven thin paper napkins,

plates set at angles to a long candle in the center of the table...

        She looked out the window at the sea.

 

        Got out the wine and the glasses, shimmering,

asked in a hollow voice “can you open it? my hands... you know.”

        She was thinking elsewhere, back to the past,

when they had waited a war to come to this place and make plans

        And look out the window at the sea.

 

        The oven squalled, distracting her distraction,

the water in the pot on the stove lapped amiably, marketing beans.

        Tizzying about the steam, Mary forgot about

all the floating memories and concentrated on the overcooking meal

        She forgot the low voice from near the wine.

 

        Mary’s eyes fell on dinner with tepid hunger,

pulling back aluminum, pouring out broth, not overtly gathering...

        She built two plates, one using negative space,

for herself of course, as she wasn’t hungry enough to have room.

        The other plate was empty like her eyes.

 

        She left a bit over on her plate when finished

and weakly sipped the wine from before her plate, it was cold.

        The water she had put on for tea made a noise,

and time moved in a shuffling way like her as she walked to get it.

        Her tears looked out at the sea.