The woman at the table behind me
is talking about the daughter she lost
fifteen years ago
when she was my age.

“They kept her alive
long enough
for her grandparents to see her
and to say goodbye.
“She was pumped with meds
and far from coherent.
She wasn’t in any pain
as far as we could tell.
It was over relatively quickly.”

Our backs faced each other
pressed on different sides
of the same booth.
I couldn’t see her
at all
but the sorrow of her story
so long after
was still palpable.

I don’t know why
she was reliving this misery
this night
or to whom she spoke.
Only one voice carried to my table
on its own
and it said enough.

I listened carefully
but if I could
I’d have turned my hearing off
so the lady
could be left alone with her friend
her story
and her daughter.