The Other Setting

She cancelled two minutes after I sat down.

I said of course, completely fine,

already at the table. Just me, I told the server.

She took one menu. Left mine

and the second water glass.

The ice went clear. The ring spread slow

across the cloth. I watched it.

I didn't ask her to go

back for it. Some version of waiting

to see if she'd notice, come back.

She didn't. I ate. I paid.

I tipped. I walked home in the black-

gray cold of a Tuesday.

The glass was still there when I left —

full, ice gone, sweating.

Not sad. Not bereft.

Just set for someone.

Just waiting.

The way a thing waits

when it doesn't know it's waiting.