In a Parking Lot

I'm breathing out and in at the same time.

The center console

Pushes into his side

As he consoles me.

He can't be comfortable

But he stays still

Reaching across,

His torso twisted;

Only his hands move

Drumming soft music

Onto my back.

My eyes closed,

I can't see if anyone is walking by.

But if she is,

My tears are so minute,

In the minute it takes her to walk to her car,

She's not thinking twice about them.

A girl stops at the entrance,

Entranced,

By the number of people inside

Sitting alone.

She makes up stories

For each of their lives:

What they ate for breakfast,

Favorite season,

Where they're from,

The song stuck in their head--

The content

That makes them content.

What would she make up for me?

If she saw my tears,

Would she, at least, know what they're for?

She'd think I was grieving

The loss of my dear Great Aunt Evelyn

Who sucked on butterscotch,

And gave me two dollar bills each Christmas,

Who always excused herself when leaving the room

Who insisted on calling me

My first and middle name.

Who always had an excuse for leaving her glasses behind.

Who passed away while taking a nap last Friday.

I don't know anyone named Evelyn.

The beat is slowing on my back.

He begins to let go

But I stay close,

My eyes closed.