Petrified

He stood against the bedroom wall and motioned to the window with his hand and the light came toward him and toward his black raincoat hanging on the door. The light came heavy like a rain cloud and he closed his eyes and let it soak his face. She was wearing house shoes and her best pair of blue jeans and she walked by him without looking and said nothing as she went to the window at the other side of the bedroom.

"Don't close it," he said.

Her best pair of blue jeans reflected light from the window and then a shadow when she pulled the curtain closed.

The light left his face and he stood against the bedroom wall like a broken, petrified aspen. She turned toward him and slowly moved from one side of the bedroom to the other as though figuring the best way to approach a puzzle.

"You haven't eaten today," she said.

He stood against the bedroom wall, listening only for the room to cave in, and when she finally left she didn't notice the flinch on his face when the door banged shut.

(published in 2010 Penumbra; Cal-State Stanislaus press)