Incarnation by Louis Faber

I had been sitting for an hour
in the coffee shop area
of the now gone Borders bookstore
trying to piece together the shards
of a life shattered by the impending
end of a long marriage that was
going to last for a lifetime.
And I was hoping, perhaps,
to meet someone, ready or not
to try and fill the smallest corner
of what was now a gaping void.
She was dressed in something from
the late 60s, and she floated over,
sat in the empty chair and said
“I knew you in a prior life,
we were close friends then.”
I tried to engage her in conversation
but she quickly stood, laughed and said,
“I must go now, I’m totally into
my present life and there is absolutely
no more room in it for someone new
even if they were an old friend once,”
and she quietly walked out of the store.

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