Table

She reached across the table

to fix my collar and I pulled away.

Her hand froze there in the space

between us. The nails are painted red,

chipping at the edges. I can see

the veins—blue lines under skin

so thin I can see right through

to what's underneath. When did

she become so fragile? So breakable?

When did I stop being able

to look at her without knowing

that I'm watching her disappear?

I was staring and she was staring

back and we both pretended

the moment meant nothing at all.