So I get up and leave

I fold the brown napkin in half two times

to make quarters out of paper,

eager for any sort of change

as you look at me

from across the table

that divides us,

far enough to stare

but close enough to have to fight

the urge to hold hands

by poking at the food on our plates

that we never intended to eat.

We pretend not to be uncomfortable

here, in the wooden booth

that pushes my bones and prods my back

while we bask in each other’s quiet company

of friendship gone awry

as we try to repair it and make things right,

but the silence tells us what we already knew:

there is no fixing this; there is no fixing us.

I unfold the napkin,

revealing stains and creases

in the fibers that make the napkin complete,

flaws in the foundation

that folding could only hide,

but never change.

 

Photo from here