Wishing You Better

So strange to find you here now,
after our disasters. The snide past provides us
its occasional kick in the teeth.
The whole walk back to your hotel
I’ve been tracing the scar on my arm.

And here you are, face softened
for every finer shades of expression.
Your hair has gone brittle since I last
held it in my fingers. You’re separated,
and your mother’s bottle finally broke her.

Remember the pictures at the carnival?
Your face hard as an old lime,
and the sign behind you, daring us to enter?
I dared you to kiss me. I dared you to tell
your husband who you really loved.

It’s true I like to think I was right all along,
not just about Michael, so gentle
after he was angry, but about every
stolen phone call, every secret kiss,
every murmur on the soccer field.

Sarah, whichever of my foolish words
still churns inside you,
that is the one I treasure. Even now,
despite the lobby’s clank and drone,
when you remove your overcoat,

home wafts from your sweater,
the smell of burning charcoal. I must tell you
that all my hopes from those days
are bees battering windows.
I want to wish you better.

–Adam Sol

“Wishing You Better” was published in Crowds of Sands, and kindly reprinted here with the gracious permission of House of Anansi. Adam’s next collection of poetry will be published by ECW Press in the fall of 2021.