Metro

It's easy to forget
where you met him, on the

crowded metro, taking

St. Paul to Charles de Gaulle

Etoile. He gave you his

seat. Said his stop was soon

anyway. You had been

on your feet all day, dragged

down by shopping, tired children,

worn, weeping pendulums

suspended from your arms.

It's easy to forget

why the oven clock is

ticking, time for dinner,

time for laundry, time for

lullabies. Your husband

is pouring six o'clock

martinis, slicing up

Camembert, strawberries,

baguette. He gave you his

seat, said you needed it

more than he did. The thrust

of elbows, tourists, knees,

of fingers loosening

the dishes in the sink.

So easy to forget

the weight of wedding rings.