Your hand lulls lazily across the table now,
In a charitably minded attempt
To reassure me, that it's how it was.
However, I'm not blind
You don't say my name with delight anymore,
You no longer make ridiculous plans for our weekends,
Our weekends started turning into monthly occurrences.
I wish it was something I could see that was in the way,
Yet I claim I'm not blind.
Face to face at the crossroads before I knew you,
Before we sat at dining tables.
A glimpse of your smile in my mind
Between the passing traffic that separated us.
When our times were sweeter,
Filled with innocence and naivety.
Our chairs are gradually turning back to back at the dining table,
Heads resting against one another
Now separated by our invisible wall.
Our hands have parted
Yet we're still not moving.
It's the thought of contact that brings us together,
The lack of communication that tears us apart.
It seems that we're back to back at the dining table
And face to face with the end of us.
Lorna McBain is a brand new, fresh, young poet who has previously been published in RISEN magazine. After developing a love for writing during lockdown it slowly became Lorna’s passion, despite writing things here and there as a child she never realized how much she adored writing and how natural it felt. It was the perfect outlet. When she's not writing Lorna can often be found reading, watching old movies and, listening to an eclectic range of music.