After the Party
From the upstairs window I can see
across the street where the party was.
They are packing stacks of dishes
and folding up tablecloths
while the fountain in the courtyard
makes its little sipping sounds.
There’s a man standing on the steps
with a woman in a long ruffled sweater.
I can see his back and her face,
scrunched up like she’s trying to read fine print
written on him somewhere.
Maybe they have met before today.
Maybe they saw each other at the party
after many years.
Is that you?
she might have said as he laughed.
Would you look at that.
Now he leans closer to her
and her hand reaches out for his waist
and they kiss
only half-hidden by the iron railing.
Until she pulls away,
a storm on her face,
and flees into the house
where perhaps her husband is waiting.
She leaves the door flapping open behind her,
but the man doesn’t move to close it.
He stands on the steps,
his jacket draped over a chair in the courtyard
and forgotten.
The wind picks up a sleeve and lets it drop,
a wave undone
as soon as it starts.
