We all prefer comfort to joy.
                              — Flannery O’Connor

Sitting beside the tub tonight,
a light steam fogging the bathroom mirror,
I thought of who we might have been -
those ghosts of ourselves that never
plunged forth from the womb of our routine.

I saw us together beneath your porch-light,
watching umbrellas fill the streets with black —
dark flowers blossoming on the concrete —
and with fingers fearlessly interlocked,
we felt again the thrill of our first date.

But still we sat silently looking out
across the vendors and the crowd’s blurred face
until we caught a glimpse of our daughter.
Then, before we could reach her and embrace,
I slipped down into the lukewarm water.