Waiting for Sushi

As I sit across from you,
I search our silence for
a way to undo the twenty
minutes of our undoing.
I look for you
in wilted lettuce leaves
in a puddle of ginger dressing
in an off-white salad bowl.
I make the mandible and maxillary
of chopstick jaws move
apart and together and apart: a nervous fidget.
We hear the sound of wood meeting wood,
but more the moment afterward
of air—like tendon separating bone.

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