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July/August 2008
Poem
Absence
To the man who sat alone in Covent Garden,
wispy white hair, drooping eyes, slice of walnut pie,
I do not know why I was drawn to you
and your worn-out wooden cane,
your blue button-down, wrinkled like your hands,
but I was waiting for someone to join you —
anyone to share your dessert —
two forks stuck down in the filling, like friends.
I want you to know I am sorry
I let you fumble your plate into the garbage
and walk away into the crowd.
I mourn the night you will disappear
from this world, leaving just an absence —
the single parked car left in the train station lot,
the last piece of luggage drifting
around the carousel, unclaimed.
— Amy Katzel