Last Night

by Daniel P. Stokes

You didn’t know. I’d kept it secret.
But now—I felt it in my waters—
it was time to tell.
I whispered in your ear
(the room was crowded)
“I’ve a surprise.”
You turned and tinkled
wide-eyed, “A surprise?” I nodded
and bustled past composite faces
up a flight of half-familiar stairs.
I took it from a shoebox
stuffed with shreddings
and hurried down.
You sat apart, unfrazzled
by the hubbub, grinning
at me lumbering before you,
hand wedged behind my back.
But when I held it out
and touched your empty pillow,
I faced once more in cold light
and in silence
the insignificance
of all we’ll never share.