The bench by the fountain
had been empty all week.
She sat on it anyway —
not waiting for anyone,
not avoiding anyone. The
afternoon light moved
slowly across the grass,
and she watched it the
way you watch water,
with no particular
thought.
For a while the numbness
felt like stillness. Then
it felt like a room with
every piece of furniture
pushed against the walls.
She couldn't say which
was truer. She only knew
the sun would set whether
or not she understood
herself — and that
this, too, was a kind
of mercy.