Repair

With shaking hands I put the coffee mug down

and notice a tear in the table cloth

I must mend it, I remind myself shakily

the table is riven with deep cracks

I have to get putty to repair it,
I think absent mindedly

as we sit across each other

waiting for the other to make a move

I look at my hands and notice the chipped nails

I need a manicure, I muse

I look at him and all I see is the schism dividing us

it is too deep and seems unlikely

if it would ever be the same

I want to say something, anything

but my words always instigate a torrent of abuses

so I sit quietly willing myself to out stare him

as he gets up to leave, I feel a tiny surge of relief

it is time now to repair myself.