Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away
—William Hughes Mearns,from “Antigonish” 1899
Warm soapy water in the sink soothed the hands;
the ripple plunk of water was its own music. But there was
no big hand reaching for a wet dish to dry; it was as if
she had pulled a cup from the warm suds, and the water
waited to slide into the hole; and she stopped, wondering
why the water wasn’t filling in the damn hole. She saw him
only in dreams, always in dreams, elusive, unreal, gone.
