THE NIGHT BEFORE LEAVING

LINDA GREGG

We sit at the kitchen table

waiting for some opening.

For the proper handling

of goodbye.

Going deeper and deeper

into the hours, like slow divers

sinking in their heavy gear.

We look at each other, gesturing

which way to go

through the lamplight,

garbage bags, dishes in the sink

and on the table.

We surface in a kind of dream.

The boat touches ground.

Grinds onto the rocks.

We get out,

and it floats again.