June Something

I dropped the pen cap and went under.

The floor was cold. The light was dim.

I found the cap in about two seconds.

I stayed out on a whim—

or not a whim. There was a date

in marker on the underside.

A month. A year. A kid's handwriting,

uneven, wide.

A year I knew exactly.

I held the cap and looked at it.

Then came back up.

We talked. We ate. We sat.

The table stood between us all.

The cups went round. The talk was warm.

I kept waiting for a place to say it.

There was no form

for that. Whoever wrote that date

is somewhere in this family still.

June. Something.

I didn't ask. I never will.