Last Shot

Inspired by "Last Shot" by Tobias Wolff.

Photo by Tony Rodriguez on Unsplash

The widow of a man
I miss but never got
the chance to meet
confronted me
In my dreams.

Everything I hope
would be enough
to keep him flame filled
and away from the untimely,
she is—endless opportunity
to discover everything
the rest of us know
that he will never.

We're alone
on that plane.
She's singing softly
in the falsetto that he used to.
So I know I have to listen closely 
and make sure it's not drowned out
by the engine getting louder.
She knows this so she asks
If I've seen where
he went.

I point to the open
door that everyone else
disappeared through
to sacrifice themselves
for an unknown they weren't 
sure would be worth the blood
but the ink of the suits are binding.
Her eyes narrow at me.
Her hand raises
to my face.

It's gentle
against my cheek
but has a coldness
that would have made me
flinch if this weren't the first time.
However, the loneliness  
is a cruelty she likes 
to share that I'll never 
get used to.

And just before
I can no longer hear
her for the wind,
she reassures me
never forget
and then
he's here.

She always knows
the last place
I saw him
was in the word
gone.

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