A familiar couple, a stranger and I
sit in a doctor’s waiting room 
in silence with kind nods.

The couple’s elbows touch 
on a common armrest.
Otherwise they make no eye contact 
or conversation with one another.

She worries for grandchildren
and an uncomfortable retirement.
Her husband endures an old amputation 
which deleted large parts 
of his heart and soul.

She’s worked hard   
to breathe life back into him 
through sex and home cooking-
the things he loves most.

The man on my right is a stranger.
Bald, maybe sixty, with
folded hands resting on his rounded tum.
His short neck 

is like a sturdy pedestal that supports
a very circular head 
with downcast eyes
like someone bracing himself-  
                
similar to the leaf 
at the top of a broad maple tree in late fall
struggling with the inevitable separation
which it has rehearsed in its mind
many times.

Finally 
the limb says goodbye and lets go of it.
The leaf lazily careens 
like its generations before
to a soft landing.

Here it will eventually lay still 
and slowly disentangle
it’s cells of anger and acceptance
to enter a quiet forest floor
where they will whisper
their ways to peace.