Afterward

It was easy to think you wanted nothing,

To sit mildly content before the window

Listening to cars barely moving in the night,

To avert your eyes from the words she spoke.

Those words that fell with anger into

The silence you upheld, an injunction

By which she was forced to a distance, though

Unhappy, from your rigid arms. Your arms

Held by air in a cautious pose, ready

To attach their magnets to what knowledge

Might have lingered, though its use withheld

By your gesture's nature, as the room grew

Stupid and cold. The room where you sat again

Listening to her move about, so many steps

Away from the window, and wanted nothing

But its silence to protect you, though

It left you nothing but yourself to bear.