Deja Vous


After thirty years, he shakes her hand
and shivers, as if the threads of all those kisses
that never happened still shimmered white
between them. Wisps of linen promises
when she said she would wait, but had to cut
her cloth to fit a man she didn’t choose.
The threat of shame a needle under her skin
as he turns away taking the happiness
he never found back out on to the road.
She only got two minutes after thirty years,
but she felt as if the film of the life she should
have had flashed before her eyes, and she was
as much in love then as the seventeen year old
who sewed her freedom into the wild horses
that covered the cupboard where she hung up her dreams.


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