Highly Commended (Poetry)

How could I have know she would be there?
seated quietly in the audience — anonymous
at the prize-giving — a face among others —
mostly female — middle-aged and gathered
for a modest literary event.

My poem hadn’t won — but the judge had found
some merit in it — picked it out from maybe
as many as a hundred entries — and commented
in her report on subtleties — the empathy
linking style and subject.

A subject drawn impulsively — triggered from
a news report — a local story that my mind
couldn’t help but play upon — the image haunted so —
then found some small relief translated into my own words —
a poem — only that.

But how could I have known she would be there? —
a mother with a story much the same
as I was telling — suicide — a son
unhappy — with no warning — discovered hanging
from a tree in the early morning light.

My turn to read — and partway through a stanza
I heard a gasp — a stifled shock of breath —
a chair scrape back and whispers as this stranger left —
a discreetly-closing door as I recited on —
a penny somewhere dropping — over-loud.

And afterwards she came to me contrite
at having interrupted — but the flood
of grief was overwhelming she explained
my poem brought it back — and she agreed
there was no way on earth I could have known.