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.