Until
They sit across from each other
at a small table nestled in a quiet corner
of the now bustling restaurant.
Their voices are mere whispers,
inaudible to me merely 5 feet away.
They lean forward creating a human tent
over the half-eaten meals and now
empty wine glasses, forgotten.
In an odd unison they reach forward
and their fingers gently interlace.
Neither wears a wedding band on
the ring finger but the residual depression
of the skin by the palm says that each
normally wears a wedding band,
but on this day and not this place,
and I know this meeting was to be
a secret poorly kept from sight.
He rises to leave, says in a barely
perceptible voice “until next month,”
she remains seated watching him
until he is out the door then she
makes her exit, eyes cast down
avoiding all who might glance her way.
© Louis Faber
Louis Faber is a poet and writer. His work has appeared in MacGuffin, Cantos, Alchemy Spoon (UK), Meniscus and Arena Magazine (Australia), New Feathers Anthology, Dreich (Scotland), Prosetrics, Atlanta Review, Glimpse, Rattle, Pearl, and The South Carolina Review, among many others, and has been twice nominated for both a Pushcart Prize and a Best of the Net.
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