I heard them talking
two women
bent over their lunch
like pigeons picking at a paper bag
we’re getting a divorce
she says this with fatigue
the bone-dry finish line of emotion
her friend wipes mayonnaise
from the corners of her mouth
I’m so sorry
she stuffs her words nervously
into the canyon of her friend’s pain
like throwing raw meat at a beast
hoping it won’t come closer
I am unreasonably saddened
by this rolling boulder of conversation
all the gravity and dust and assumption
I finish my soup
and they leave
while I spin
like a blind bird
all the words I could have said
why must it always be defeat
this melting of what was
the word divorce
comes from divert
why can’t it be
about turning in different directions
towards joy.