Encounter with a Married Woman

[Written/posted July 2008]


She is married, he knows

Within the first five minutes

Of their chance meeting

In this café, where these things

Usually happen. She told him this

In an almost apologetic tone,

Her face flushed, as though anticipating

That he would say, “This is no place

For people who are no longer

Alone.” His eyes are drawn

To her slender fingers

- sans ring, and that blameless face.

He tells himself, almost angrily,

“She has no business

getting married.”



They start with common interests,

This and that, really,

A bit about her husband,

A mysterious being

Extraordinary enough to woo

And win this charming creature

To give her his name

And his children.

(He imagines they are

As blameless as she is)

He wonders if she is lonely

Living in her glass house,

Attended to by porcelain servants.

His mind wanders. He remembers

His own failed relationships:

A lovely young girl

When he himself was younger.

Their romance faded:

The story of his life.

(He laughs at the thought that one day,

When he explains, at age sixty,

How he is not of marrying age.)

The memory ferments

past nostalgic intoxication:



Suddenly she rises from her seat,

And somewhere between the spaces

Of the minutes that elapsed, she must have

Gathered her things silently and neatly

From under his watch.

She is apologetic again,

The kids must be restless

But she enjoyed talking a bit.

Must you go? He says it almost

Desperately, then quickly douses

the thought, stubbing out his

cigarette. He fantasizes

that she comes to this place

Just especially to meet him.

At some other time,

It would have been enough.



Just as this new and wise woman

Vanishes from view,

He imagines being

on the same street with her

Five years ago,

Leading her away

From the throng of commuters

His arm around

Her waist.