Still Leaning

I didn't know she was there.

I saw her from across the room—

leaning, hands moving, a stranger

sitting across from her. He said something

and she threw her head back,

really laughed, the kind that opens your whole body.

She was wearing the necklace I gave her.

Two years ago. Never seen her wear it

like that, with light catching it

while she laughed at his joke.

She didn't see me. The way they leaned

toward each other. Her hands kept moving.

She was loose, open, present

in a way I haven't seen in months.

We used to sit at that table.

I used to make her laugh but not

like that. Never like that. Never with

her whole body thrown completely open.

The necklace kept catching light.

She kept leaning in. I kept watching.