Picking at a Scab

I'll see her for the first time in two years
Next month. What will I see? It's been
Almost that long since I've heard anything
From her. What seemed like genuine
Affection wilted, like a vase of too-old
Flowers, dropped, and blew away. I doubt
That I will witness them, or it, return to life
Again. Will there be awkwardness between
Us, simple coolness, or some sad, persisting
Ember, far from fuel, doomed to glow before
It dies? I don't suppose it matters much.
Our past is gone, beyond retrieval, and I'll
Fly away from her within a couple days.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2021-07-16 at 00:43

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