how far from home.

they spoke carefuly

like the positioning of feet

under the table

cautious not to touch

lest it trigger embarrassment

or worse

the inconvenience of having

to dredge up an 'I'm sorry'

and pull it into the air

waving like a soiled dishrag

that once meant surrender

and now was only another subtle

call to war

and so they talk

about the flowers that they drive past

but not the houses

because she loved their old apartment

and he is weary of these memories

they discuss the street names

but only the ones

that do not sound like names

because of the small stone cross

the counselor insisted they put up

as a part of 'the grieving process'

that she does not talk about

but that he still wakes up thinking

how many months till june

and then realizes that it is long past

and the silence is still unbroken

by any noise

except that sometiems when he wakes

he realizes her pillow is wet

and that the breaths on that side

are ragged at the edges

like something. (like sound) was pulled away

and she no longer can call for comfort

and he thinks about stretching his hand out

but then she comments on his driving

and he squeezes the steering  wheel two handed

to keep from responding to the thrown bait

so she subsides

and watches the windows slip past

and does not realize that she has put them

inside every one

in every little window with bright curtains

and a swing outside on a tree

until they pull into the driveway

and he does not say 'we are home'

but 'I think this is it.'

and so they go in

to wish long life and joy

to the happy couple