no changing, she said.
she sighed and said, no changing what you are.
what you do, oh sure, there's always
another choice to make, some other flood
to let loose. but no changing.

this is after i have found her
on some park bench,
almost shivering for having forgot a coat,
shying away from streetlights
and lurking along the paths like a fugitive.

no changing, i repeat.

the past is so irrevocable, she says,
some choices are so irretrievable.
she is silent then, and i notice the tears
filing into position along her lashes.
i let the moment lie, counting
the number of pulled threads in her sweater
then open my mouth and inhale,

no changing! she repeats,
glaring at me to defy her.
even if i had it to do over, it's a path
and it's mine and i walked down it,
and what is there to change about that?
insistent she continues, when i am reborn
(and at least there is some possibility of that)
i will make this choice again.
no changing.

and that moment, that moment stands still
and stares hard at both of us.
she can't make eye contact, i am silent
and trying not to be judgmental.
the moment joins us on the bench, curls up
next to her and tucks its feet under.
the red red tongue appears, and laps its own wounds
and hers. the moon glows.