Her voice, delicate as a butterfly’s wings
Shook as she asked the pertinent questions,
When did it happen, where, how…
His look, dark and shuttered
Apologized for the pain he was about to instill,
“The road was icy…the cliff—steep.”
Desolation warred with anger
She’d begged him to stay off the mountain,
“Was his body, all in one piece?” the hitch in her voice barely noticeable.
Concerned yet confused, he raised an eyebrow
Questioning her unexpected gruesomeness, he replied
“Yes, it was a head wound that killed him…I’m sorry.”
Relief poured from her, wetting her skin
He would be back and she would be ready.
“Thank you, officer, you know the way out.”
The house was dark, the bags all packed
She sat in the parlor waiting for him to arrive,
A speech waiting to leave her lips before finding a new home.
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