My husband and son are kind, sensitive men.
I don’t understand how this happened:
 
We return to our car after walking off the ferry
following a trip to Port Townsend.
 
I choose the back seat, but find the back door locked.
While tapping on the window, trying to get their attention,
 
they take off.  I’m left standing in the parking space
four miles from home.
 
Surely one of those thoughtful men will notice
I’m not in the car.
 
Didn’t happen that way.  They drove home, only then,
surprised I didn’t respond when they spoke to me.
 
Where’s your mother?
I don’t know.  Maybe she is getting the mail.
I didn’t stop there.
 
I was told my husband leaned over the seat to check
the floor as if I was somehow hidden from view.
 
Driving back to pick me up, my son, who has always
admired his father said, I’m glad I’m not you.

From Glint (MoonPath Press, 2019).
Used with permission.