What I Did Not Do

I thought of driving there
early, before anyone was up.
The road would be empty.
I could turn around if I had to.

I pictured the house.
Light already in the kitchen.
A chair pulled out.
Something left on the table.

I saw her moving through it
as if it had always been hers.
A cup in her hand.
Someone speaking to her
from another room.

Then she laughed.

Not the way she used to,
not looking toward the door,
not waiting for anything.
Just laughing,
already inside her life.

I stayed where I was,
in the car,
engine off.

I could have gone up.
Knocked.
Said her name.

There would have been
a pause,
then whatever came next.

I didn’t.

After a while
I turned the key
and left.

No one saw me.

By the time I reached home
it was later than I thought.

Nothing had changed.

I didn’t tell anyone
where I’d been.