We haven’t spoken in years.

We haven’t spoken in years.

And the last time I saw you
at the yard sale, as you walked
among the collapsible tables

fingering the unwanted odds and ends
of someone else’s life, I couldn’t bring
myself to meet your searching eyes.

Having nothing to add
to what was said before,
I hid myself around the corner until

you finally picked up two crystal wine glasses,
a nickel apiece, and you never guessed
that I was there, watching, remembering.