A Woman In Love

I sit at this coffee table like a ghost.
Listening in on strangers' sincere insights.
A child screams somewhere, but the constant clanks
Of porcelain mugs calms my silent self.

There are two women near me, who appear
from the corner of my eye, attractive.
One is in a new relationship,
fresh from a decade of a dead marriage.

She seems happy, truly, with that
sweet sickness of adoration.
Like this seems too good for her,
like she suspects that happiness will
one day eventually fold up and head to
the next carnival town.

Her ex-husband hit her once.
And she speaks of it almost with
affection. Love, it seems,
Love is a clenched fist.