a first date

My son is
in jail, she
said,
without
any prompting,
and even though
she offered it
unabashedly,
the pain
was lit
in
her
eyes.
“I suppose
you want to head
for the door,”
she said.
I didn’t,
and
I’m not sure why
I didn’t.
I think it was
that
which
connected us:
we both
were
parents.
I know
the fine
line that separates
things,
events,
fate,
lives.
She waited.
I thought.
She waited.
I watched her.
She waited.
I asked her how
often she gets
to visit him.
I knew she did.
I know I would.
A baby cried before
she
could answer.
A Sunday afternoon
at Starbucks.
Greenwich,
Connecticut.
It was windy outside.