parked at rosedale

So unceremonious

get out of the car

walk dry-eyed back to what you were doing before

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands

He expected something else, not your hair

on fire in the sun through the windshield.

He didn’t expect to sit above the city on the same road

where you decided to start this all so long ago.

The car door is shutting and you’re walking

and your eyes burn but you let it pass

and the car’s gone and you’re back at work.

And later when you’re alone you shake in shock

while you wash the dishes.

And later still you sit in your bed with your naked

pillow and bare mattress, waiting for the dryer

for clean clothes, waiting to put things away,

to put things in order,

to put your clothes in order so you can pull them out when you need them,

because they’re clothes,

because you need clothes.

Waiting for it to sink in.

Waiting for the sound to catch up to your ceiling fan.

So unceremonious.

Get out of the car.

Go back to what you were doing before.

With tomorrow suddenly and irrevocably different.

With tomorrow insanely the same.