Stranger

There was a stranger at my sister’s funeral
He came in late and stood at the back
He was tall, but slightly stooped
His white hair swept back
Wearing dark glasses
He wants to be invisible, I thought

Sitting in the family pew
I watched him from the corner of my eye
“Who’s that man in the back?”
My husband turned to look
“Don’t turn around,” I hissed
“How would I know?” he said

I felt compelled to share
When the time came in the service
I said the things people say
The usual meaningless things
And I watched the man in the back
As he stood expressionless

As the benediction ended
I pushed out of the pew
“What are you doing?” my husband said
“I want to know who he is,” I said
But the stranger had already left the church
I rushed to the side door

I tore my heels off and ran
Rounding the corner I glimsed him driving off
My sister’s lover?
An ex-husband we didn’t know about?
“Wait!” I shouted
“Who are you?”