In the Parking Garage
(After Philip Levine’s “The Two”)
She opened the door and got out of the car,
walked briskly around and toward the
parking structure stairs, certain they
would be late. But it didn't matter. He
was trailing behind, as usual. There
was little said between them,
too little said for too many years,
too grief-stricken at the prospect
of there no longer being a them.
What unsaid things have passed between them,
what unthought thoughts have gone unbidden,
what fears unexpressed, what sorrows suppressed
in the face of exposure, of distrust.
The distrust that destroyed them. She stopped
and waited for him to catch up. The parking
garage waited in silence, too quiet for
comfort, too cold for a moment that might
allow them to stop and remember.
The years have passed without understanding,
without recognition, without the knowledge
that would come with too high a price for either.
Now the parking garage is silent. They have left,
left behind, left in a lost time that neither
can quite grasp again, time they would both grasp desperately
if they could.