The Sunday Before The Week When Everything Turned Around

She waited for him at their spot, nothing special,
an old elm tree, the fourth one from the entrance.
There was a bench overlooking the lake. A crow
rifled around in the grass a few feet away, then
flew away cawing as if to tell her it's a lonely life
with meager pickings. Several geese flew over,
calling to her to follow. She put her fingers
through the gaps between the rails of the bench,
wiggled them, then squeezed until they turned
purple and yelled let go. She walked to the car,
looking behind several times, then not again.