A nice dinner is set.
She waits.
And waits.
The candles burn down to nubs.
The CD plays through several times.
The dishes from making a nice meal are washed, dried, put away.
Except for those still on the table.
Dinner, that was turned down to low, is now overdone.
The phone does not ring.
Her husband (or lover) does not arrive.
It is not the first time.
This meal was her attempt to heal
the rift that has been widening.
But it is too late.
She is done.
Emotional waves crest and abate.
Anger. Frustration. Bitterness. Disillusionment. Grief.
And finally, at her wit’s end
she takes the empty plate
from his side of the table
and smashes it.
Smashes their future
or what was left of it.
It is a demarcation line.
A point of no return.
A light switch turning off.
The end.
And in the crashing of the plate
she hears her voice
out loud.
And her future is now clear.
She can now see through
the emotional haze that
she was mired in.
She chooses life.
She chooses peace.
Her next season of life –
her autumn –
is clearer.
As she sweeps the broken shards
she is resolved.
A peace settles over her.
She turns off her phone.
She turns on her favorite CD.
She pours herself a glass of wine
She lights another candle
And she sits down to a meal
with herself.
The beginning.