Lament

After a moment, she realizes
The gold on his ear is a familiar
Tilted cross from years ago
When they first met,
And now as he sits in a booth,
Talking to a friend,
Those tiny metal lines glitter.
She rises and walks to his table.
Ocean-colored eyes look at her.
She has seen them
In all shades of light--
Sunshine, half-light, darkness,
But they’re different now
Without whitecaps.
He smiles and stands,
Drawing her to him.
Her back braces
Before yielding to his embrace.
Her bones have buffered his fists before
As he beat her zippered flesh.
Even now her body betrays her:
A communion wafer
To absorb a river of wine
That has run between them,
Dried for now, but the clay
Is gouged deep.
She has heard his whiskey-streaked voice
Call her name,
But never like this,
Never in this silk tone,
His hands brush her hair,
Fingers trickling through it,
The same ones which have never
Traced her body with lament before.
Now they sing the first few notes of regret
And hope as she gently turns
The earring.

(c) 2009 Maria Rachel Hooley.  All Rights Reserved.