Wilted

by Erin Jamieson

We meet by the same pebbled bridge

from a decade, maybe two decades ago

your freckled face now lined with wrinkles

my hair more ash than blonde

A picnic of sushi with slabs of wasabi

pickled ginger, sprigs of mint

bought at a discount, but we pretend

it’s delightful as our first date

We ignore claps of thunder & the smell

of impending rain- as you tell me how

you lost your wife & I list the jobs

I’ve had, the cats I adopted

the dreams that collapsed

with every year

Lightning strikes near or perhaps far away

there’s danger in returning here,

remapping our pasts to understand how

we might have had different endings

We run away from the bridge

to separate cars & there’s a moment

I want to say why I left you

the fear of caring too much-

But those words have wilted

a flower without water

does not revive after years

and I settle for a wave

as you drive in the rain

And I collect the picnic

we left behind