the search

she was always searching,
opening drawers to find
what she was looking for.
and what that was, she
wasn't sure. sometimes
you'd come home early from
work and find her
at your desk pulling
the drawers open,
lifting papers, sifting
through the piles
of your own debris,
moving things aside,
and you'd ask her if
she'd found it yet,
whatever it was she was
searching for, and she'd
look at you and say
without smiling,
no, not yet. but I will
one day. you wonder,
these years later,
as she kisses her new husband
goodbye, as he goes
off to work, if she's
doing the same now.
pulling at the handles
of drawers, searching
for something she isn't
sure of.