The noise of the chair falling
to the ground compresses
and fades into a single point
in space. The headrest
rises to your hand,
and you lower yourself
to sit again.
Smudges of mascara race
up your cheeks to settle around shining eyes.
With a fork, you remove
food from your mouth,
and like a conductor reconstruct
the medley of unchewed almond-crusted salmon
with garlic crisp potatoes. I unclear
my throat so that I cannot say,
“We need to talk.”