In the morning Rose and Mona were gone.
The man at the desk had not seen them.
The sun was shining through the rain.
No one on the street had seen them.
No one among them mentioned police.
Melindra drove them everywhere.
Dave’s frantic anger, his silence
a weeping beyond telling, already mourning.
They searched half the day. In the empty room
they gathered Rose’s things with her sister’s.
She may have wanted to do one thing Mona
would have done for her, her only family,
and took her away to go where she wanted,
even if it was to fix. Rose would watch over her.
Melindra acceded to Dave’s wishes and drove.
They had only complicated these lives.
Lives so fragile rain was better for the web
than those who loved them shaking their frailty.
Give them time, Bobby said, give them each other.
There was nothing to do with the day but look.
At last Dave went to the police station.
He had a photo of Rose in his hand.
They duplicated it and gave it back.
Dave claimed he wasn’t sure of her last name.
The photo is enough, he told himself,
she would hate me if they found her . . .
In their darkness they took the freeway home.
The rain followed, filling the dawn.
Melindra drove all the way into Seattle,
entering as sun broke through clouds, lighting the day.
(1, 9 April 2012)
copyright 2012 by Floyce Alexander