Clearing Fences
we sip chilled wine on a deck-like terrace
in autumn sunlight’s failing warmth
in the distance the low rumble of the falls
a light lunch
we’ve not seen each other in months
we’re ‘mending fences’
“Questions make bad poems,” she says
as if writing on a chalkboard
I listen for recurrence of old arguments
today they’re just shadows
She reads me one of hers
a startling piece with no answers
a rush of certainties in crisp description
I’ve not brought any of mine
and don’t memorize
she chuckles, winning a contest I’ve not entered
“Read or be read,” she says, mocking me
I brush away memories of old strands of argument
about texts that read us until we can read them
they’re tired fish resting in shallows
before driving on upstream to spawn
I make no comment
she smirks, thinking neither is no option
more mockery
when everything is worthy
sometimes there is no saying
even her bronzed praises
of surfaces. of nothing.
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