The Encounter
She was walking down the subway— her strangeness had worn away, the purple of her skin, the chalk-white cream upon her face, the folds of fat arranged so carefully I could not know her from afar. Would you have known me? Would it have been right to say so? So many rains gone past, so many springs passed through, flowers climbing over roof doors, settling by attic walls, nesting in mortar cracks where no sun entered. Those days were disobedient, loneliness-filled; now the turning back is terribly hard. You— and the man behind you, stout of frame, quite fitting, a good choice, you are fortunate. In these days, these lives, with rising prices, with battles approaching, one must have certainty, dependence without end, a weight to be carried onward. This time, the choice has pleased you, has it not? To recall the past would only become unnecessary, for you are made straight, no longer fragile, no longer uncertain. To be happy here is a challenge greater than the c...