The Gravelled Path

As I walked out of church, I saw

her car in the lot.

Was she behind me in the church,

perhaps looking now at the back of my head

and dragging her feet?

Or perhaps disengaging herself

from a hearty greeter

in hopes of catching me up?

The marbled sky was casting

an unreal light on the cars

and the people approaching the cars.

The crunch of feet on the gravelled path

was static in my ears.

Perhaps she wasn’t aware

I was at the service.

Some people were calling goodbyes

to one another.

Others were stopped in small groups,

awkward and lingering.

Dinner would be ready.

I knelt by the side of the path

and untied my shoe.

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