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