Time of Day: Jason Hardy

​"Time of Day"

See that woman sitting over there?
Ghost white skin, jet black hair.
She always arrives after dark.
Just sits by herself in the park.
Yes, that one, under the oak.
Head tilted back. Having a smoke.
I once sat down next to her.
How long ago? I'm not quite sure.
I was much younger at that time.
When saying hello wasn't a crime.
I just inquired the usual way:
She looked pale. Was she okay?
She assured me she felt fine.
I declined a cigarette. I had mine.
I was a little startled when she smiled.
Her teeth were long. They looked filed.
Nonetheless, she was good company.
We talked for hours under that tree.
I won't tell you all the woman said.
You'll learn in time when you're dead.
Just this: "I get hungry this time of day."
I mumbled some excuse. I didn't stay.
She let me go. I was never sure why.
For whatever reason. I never pry.
I keep my distance. I prefer to wave.
I'm not quite ready for an early grave.
She waves back. She returns my smile.
But I know they weren't made by file.
Still, I'm drawn here. Are you not?
Tomorrow I'll take you to her plot.
I followed her home years ago.
It's in a cemetery you may know.
Unless you prefer meeting. It's up to you.
She's met so many. I've warned a few.
I'll rake my leaves while you decide.
If she's worth knowing. If I lied.