The Viewing

The Viewing She wore it that weekend After he bought it at the drugstore with eight dollars they didn’t have. Rent money. Food. It was a man’s Timex and she wore it in the motel. She wore it in the waves at the beach in Coronado. The hands froze and sand collected. She wore it to the wedding. She wore it on their honeymoon. A night on Catalina. Eleven-thirty eight. She said that was when they fell in love. She wore it to the hospital until the doctor talked about stillborn and heart beats. Then it was gone. And she. Now, forty-five years later he waited until everybody walked past her. Nobody knew husband number one from long ago. A grandchild smiled at him. Some lawyer had found him. Finally he got up. He couldn’t look at her face but saw her wrist with the Timex watch. The wrist underneath that he used to kiss leading to other things and a baby with no breath, blue. He saw the hour’s hand floating on the sand on the dial. Minutes still thirty-eight. He saw her hair floating In the wind And the sea rushing to engulf her And take her For the moment. And reappear like now laughing, love really not lost at all.