Refusal

I didn't believe her.

I said so. I turned

before she could say

anything else, before she could

try to convince me or

laugh it off or let it hang

between us like something

true.

But I've been replaying it.

The coffee shop counter

between us. The sound

of the espresso machine.

The way she said it—

casual, like it wasn't a question,

like it wasn't asking for anything.

I looked in the dark window

after she left. The glass

was streaked. The reflection

didn't match the word.

I looked smaller there,

more tired. The light was bad.

Or my face was.

I don't know how to take

a compliment like that

without the immediate no,

without the correction,

without turning it around

so it lands somewhere safe.

But I've been sitting with it anyway.

Not believing it. But also

not being able to unhear it.

The way she saw me and said

something kind.

The way I made her

take it back.