Paul cupped my face in his hands
and swore he would be as loyal
as snow is to winter.
I blushed. He stammered.
He promised to meet
mama and me at the station.
If he wasn’t there, leave
and he would quickly follow.
You won’t stay behind?
I asked. You swear?
“Yes, yes,”
and he kissed me over and over.
The thought of that grubby boy Arthur
with his filthy pipe
disgusted me. Paul
must have been feeble
from drink and illness
to have given in
to such
but I couldn’t think of it
any more–a country
whose borders
Paul would never cross again
but as Mama and I boarded the train,
with Paul nowhere in sight,
my stomach tumbled.
Mama squeezed my hand:
“He’ll come later.”
