A Friend Told Me

You came by
several months after,
at your request,
I’d gone home
to America:
you wanted to talk,
she guessed—
before your dinner party
down the street.
And then you couldn’t talk,
“not where we’d been together”
you said, crying
on your pretty dress.
stood there on the step,
snow turning scarlet
on your velvet hat,
wishing a larger pain
would soak you up.