Marie Howe

The Visit

I could hardly look into his eyes,

	I looked more often at his mouth,

and could raise my eyes only briefly.

Watching my girl staring into his face

	debating with him, as I used to,

proud of herself, reveling in her beauty and will.

Your eyes are so blue, she said, and stared and stared.

Indeed they were as blue as when I first saw him so many years ago.

Shame might have kept me from raising my eyes to his.

All those arguments

All that kissing

Driving the car along that country road

with his hand inside me.

I couldn’t look.

But after he left, when the girl was in bed

I lay awake a long time, gazing into the life I’d chosen.