Court Date

 

On our 21^st wedding anniversary

I stood in the empty stone lobby of the courthouse – alone,

Reading the digital board that lists, like airport departures,

The cases to be decided today.

There we are - Martin vs. Martin.

We have signed all the requisite slips of paper.

They were served by that oddly fractious third party we had to hire,

Sworn to, and all submitted in duplicate months ago.

This one is cut and dried.

I have not seen you in five years.

It is longer still since we touched with affection or kindness.

But you remain familiar - I fight you and love you when I’m dreaming.

In the daylight, I awake to reality. You are distant. It is cut and dried.

The judge meets my eyes and rules this divorce absolute.

There are Milky Way minis in a paper cup on the plaintiff’s table.

I wonder if these are for me.

Perhaps people need chocolate when this happens?

I didn’t expect tears in this empty stone place.

But the word “absolute,” and you still in my dreams,

and the mundane humanity of candies in the courtroom

fall on me heavily.

I say thank you, ma'am, and go out of the court to find a tissue.