Meeting Again After Decades by James Richardson
"On the smaller scale, it’s hesitantly spring"
Meeting Again After Decades
Our phones on the tiny table like decks of cards are silenced, but they light, they shake. We know that they’re thinking. Billions of years none of the cosmic issues have been settled. Water’s still seeking its own level, the planet needs a few more eons to figure out what it all comes down to. On the smaller scale, it’s hesitantly spring, and the server says No problem, back in a few. Where we want to be is exactly where we are, but there's no way to get there from here.
First published in ONLY POEMS, January 12, 2025.
This poem feels like a quiet snapshot of two people trying to reconnect after a lifetime of living.
The phones on the table say so much how the world keeps buzzing even when we’re trying to be present.
I love how the poem suddenly zooms out to cosmic time, as if to remind us that nothing big ever really gets resolved.
Then it drops back into early spring, hesitant and unsure, mirroring the awkwardness of meeting again.
The server’s casual “back in a few” grounds everything in the everyday, which somehow makes the moment feel warmer.
The line about wanting to be exactly where we are carries a soft, familiar ache.
It captures that strange mix of closeness and distance that comes with seeing someone after decades.
There’s a tenderness in the way the poem holds both the vastness of the universe and the smallness of a café table.
It hints at how time changes us, yet leaves certain feelings untouched.
By the end, it feels like a whole history is sitting quietly between two people, trying to find its way back.