Interrogation

Once, there was.

Ahead, steer now, confession.

The man’s voice, quiet as snow.

Dressed like bridegrooms, the waiters

Bending in with insignificants: Pepper, Monsieur?

Madame?

He chose the room: a crate of cooing doves,

The armor of a lemon pyramid, a sheltered view.

The room filling. All the excuses made

For simple hunger.

This is a beautiful place, I say, unfolding a napkin.

Not meaning for him to suffer.

We sat at that expensive table

As at the nineteenth century. My father never said

The name I knew. The good blanks he left

Leave room to see: yet another story of a woman and a man.

Not unspeakable; unsayable.

I wanted him to know I understood the difference.

Maybe he thought, what occasion offered a man

He’d have been a fool not to take.

This was years ago. It was possible.

It is, still.

So many questions.

We’ll need a chair, strong light.