A park guard found his two-door Mercedes
locked in the lot near Deerhead Nature Trail.
Just washed, navy-blue 2008, keys
left on the hood. He’d call her without fail
when coming home late, but not this night, dark
and stifling silence outside, as if birds
and crickets had disappeared with him, stark
room surrounding her. She hears his last words
over and over, a kiss and simple
“See ya.” The lone light shines on his picture.
She holds it, gazes, touches his dimple,
returns frame to the desk. Recites scripture
under her breath. Sees women by the damp
tomb. She lies down. Breathes deep. Turns off the lamp.
Roger Armbrust
May 12, 2008
