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.