The Meeting

This is the curb where
the car stood, see the dry
square on the rain-wet pavement,
and here the elm tree dripped
its tears. This is the very ground
she stood on as she fled
(in her mind, her step
slow and reluctant), this air
for all I know is what they
breathed, this sun broke through
to mist the windows of the car,
this bird sang, this grass
must have heard the news, but
something’s gone, lost, dissolved,
vanished, frightened away by sobs
and anger, X marks the spot on the map
of a make-believe country where she
gave back to him what she had never
had although he said she would not
pledge a straw to keep it hers. So
the tears she shed so piteously for
her release blamed him for what he was,
yet lacked his signature, as money
spent on grief or love never
exceeds the debt.